


Prodigy

by hiddeninyourblood



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Criminal Minds Reader Insert, F/M, LLF, LLF Project, Longlivefeedback, Prodigy, Reader Insert, idk merry christmas, long live feedback, longlivefeedback project, reader is a prodigy, so is Spencer (obvs), they're prodigies... together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddeninyourblood/pseuds/hiddeninyourblood
Summary: “I find it amusing that we’re all pretending to be normal when we could be insanely interesting instead.” – Atlas.The one where you're a prodigy, so is he, and he's the only person alive who makes you feel normal.TellonymKo-Fi
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid x Reader, Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 199
Kudos: 448





	1. Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a suicide tactic? most definitely. I don't think anything could compare to Stolen Dance, if I'm completely honest, but I have to try, right? 
> 
> This is actually an idea I originally had for a screenplay (kind of a modern Doogie Howser gender-swap thing), but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how well it would work as a Spencer Reid x Reader fic. So, if you like it, PLEASE, let me know, because otherwise, I'll probably just scrap this entire thing lol. 
> 
> That being said, enjoy!
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-4NSflcqmo)

You were out shopping with your friends, like most normal teenagers did on the weekend. You and Idol hit up a few clothing outlets, dragging Jax along.

“Can’t we go somewhere we all like?” Jax whined. 

Idol’s arms were already covered with bags. You, on the other hand, had two with only a few items. 

Idol turned to Jax, a blank look on her face. “You mean something you like?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms.

She sighed. “Look, we’ve been over this: the first half, I get to do all of the girly things with Y/N. Then, you get to do all the nerdy stuff with her.” 

“You guys divvy up the time you spend with me?” you asked, laughing to yourself. 

“We have to!” Idol defended. 

“You’re so busy with work, we go weeks without hanging out as a team,” Jax agreed. “Hanging out with Idol all the time is boring.”

Idol punched him in the arm.

“I’m sorry, guys, but believe me, I feel the same way,” you said. “Everything’s just been… crazy. Someone just quit, and we’ve been busier than usual. I’m lucky I got these two days in a row off.” 

“Speaking of which…” Idol said, linking her arm with yours. “We need to find you a dress for homecoming.”

Jax groaned.

“How about I work on finding a date first,” you chuckled.

“No, no dates! We’re going as a group,” Idol scolded. 

You were about to make a witty remark when someone called out.

“Help! We need help!” A frantic woman shouted. 

You dropped your bags and started running. 

Eventually, you found a bunch of people standing around in a circle. Some had their phones out, others looked around, like Superman would appear out of thin air. You were no Superman, but in some ways, to some people, you were a hero.

You made your way through the crowd, unafraid to shove people aside. Some people made noises or remarks, but mostly, they let you move past. Breathless, you mangled your way to the center of attention. 

“Please, please,” a woman sobbed on a man’s chest. He was completely unconscious, laying flat on the food court floor. 

“Everyone, back up!” you instructed. “Someone get an AED!”

You knelt beside the man, pressing two fingers to his neck. While you felt for a pulse, you also monitored his chest for breathing. Then, you looked up to his wife. “Please, ma’am, give me some space. I need to start compressions.” 

Someone who looked like a family member pulled her aside. Using one hand to stabilize the other, you began pressing two inches deep in the center of his chest. Your movements were fast, and the power behind them came from your entire upper body. 

“Who are you?” The wife asked between cries.

“Damn AED is taking too long,” you muttered under your breath. 

You stood back, raising a fist about a foot above the man’s chest. Then, in a swift motion, you brought your fist downwards, striking him in the lower third of his sternum.

With a gasp and a cough, the man jolted back into consciousness like he was startled during a deep sleep. “What happened? Where am I?” 

You laughed with glee. “You’re in the Pallor Heights Mall; your heart stopped. Clearly, it’s working now.” 

A frightened employee stumbled through the crowd, clutching the AED like it was a lifeline.

“We don’t need that anymore,” you said casually. “But, if you could call an ambulance, that’d be great.”

“Who the hell is this girl?” someone in the back of the crowd said.

“She’s our best friend,” Idol said proudly, “the teenage MD.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I want an ECG, CBC, and an angiogram done yesterday,” you said as the patient was rolled into the ER. “His heart needs to be monitored at all times.”

“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?” the head of ER, Dr. Cabello, asked. 

“Hubert Riaz, 52-year-old male with no previous known heart conditions collapsed at the mall,” you explained. 

Cabello pulled you aside. “And you were at the mall because…”

“...because it’s my day off?” you finished. “Look, Cabello, I’d love to chat, but there are some tests I should be running.” 

“Actually, you should be at the mall, or at home,” he corrected. “You know why?”

“Because it’s my day off,” you grumbled. 

“Go home, Y/N, before you have to stay,” he instructed, before following the paramedics as they rolled Mr. Riaz away. 

Before you could do anything, Mrs. Riaz pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried before going to join her husband. 

“You’re welcome,” you replied, but she was already gone. That didn’t stop you from smiling. 

You looked up to find a familiar face. “Dad!” you called out, jogging to catch up with him. “What are you doing in the ER?”

“What are you doing in the hospital?” He frowned, looking at a chart. 

Eli Abner — the best Cardiac surgeon on the East Coast, maybe the entire country. He also happened to be your father. In a weird way, you balanced each other out: he was famous in the world of medicine, you were famous in every other world. People didn’t stop him on the street to ask him about his high school and college career. You couldn’t say the same. 

“I asked you first,” you said. 

“I was called down for a consult, 50-something male collapsed in the mall,” he recalled. “Your turn.” 

You couldn’t fight the grin on your face. “Guess who revived him?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “AED?”

“Precordial Thump,” you corrected. 

His face morphed back into a frown; it was his default expression. “Percussion Pacing isn’t recommended for out-of-hospital use.”

“How about: ‘Good job, Y/N! You saved a life today, Y/N!’” you said.

As if on cue, Idol and Jax entered the ER. 

“Dr. Abner!” Jax called with a smile. She was of course referring to your father — you couldn’t remember the last time someone at the hospital called you that.

“Hello, Jax,” he said, formal as always. “Idol. It’s good to see you both.”

“Sir, could you please tell your wonderful daughter that she’s not supposed to be here on her days off?” Idol asked. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Eli repeated. “Go, enjoy your time off.”

A few hours later, and you were confident your two best friends wished they left you at the hospital.

Rather than going back to the mall, you opted to just go home. Apparently, Jax and Idol weren’t bored of you yet, so they followed you upstairs to your room. Unfortunately for them, you saw this as the perfect opportunity to rant.

“What the fuck is wrong with those two?!” you shouted, pacing across your bedroom. “It’s like they wanted me to go away.”

“They want you to have a life outside of your job,” Idol said. She was laying on your bed, propping up her head with one arm. “Is that really such a crime, Y/N?”

“It’s like they don’t want me to be a doctor,” you corrected. “Cabello couldn’t wait to just swoop in and get the poor guy away from me. Not to mention, he didn’t even call me ‘doctor’ — he said ‘Y/N’, like I’m his kid. Oh, and don’t even get me started on my father!” 

“I won’t,” Jax said, playing with a model skull that sat on your desk. 

“He didn’t say anything good about what I did. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I saved a guy in a mall food court, and my he criticizes my method,” you continued, ignoring Jax’s remark. “God, what a dick! Both of them! Both of them are dicks.” 

Idol sat up with a sigh. “You know what you have to do, right?” 

“If you say ‘let it go’, I swear to god, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“You’re a doctor: you should know girls don’t have nuts. Oh, also: you’re a doctor!” She said. “And you’re 17. They feel threatened, Y/N. That’s why they don’t give you any credit! They’re amazing doctors, but they’ll never be amazing teen doctors. Not like you could be.” 

“Alright, genius,” you said. “What do I do?”

“For being a prodigy, you can be really dumb sometimes,” Idol groaned. “You be amazing.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Idol,” you said sarcastically. “Thanks for enlightening me. I feel so much better.”

“You didn’t let me finish, bitch,” she said, standing up. “You have to be amazing, and you can’t be afraid to talk about it.” 

“You want me to brag about my accomplishments?” 

“You’re a good doctor, right?” She asked. 

You nodded. “I like to think so, yeah.”

“Then make them know you know,” Idol said. “They only push you over because you let them. Don’t.” 

You leaned over to look at Jax. “Do you know what the hell she’s talking about?”

“Treat others how you’d like to be treated,” he summarized. “When Cabello and your dad are being dicks, be dicks back.” 

“Good advice. Thanks, Jax.”

“Wow, if only I had thought of that!” Idol said sarcastically before flopping into your bed in exasperation.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You flipped through a few records in your favorite Vinyl shop, The Rusty Spoon. They sold new and secondhand records, all of which you loved dearly. You mostly bought new ones, as your favorite artists were more modern, but you liked to look through and occasionally purchase the classics. You had yet to buy a damaged record, as the store provided a turntable at the register to try any second hand vinyls. 

As you thumbed through the discounted albums, you found a cover that was an elegant shade of red. The top corners had intricate golden designs. A thin line of the same color stretched the width of the cover. You pulled it up from the rack to get a good look. An oil painting of a familiar face decorated the front. In a fine, cursive font read ‘The Best of Beethoven’. After a moment of consideration, you tucked it into the crook of your arm, which already held 3 records. 

“You listen to Beethoven?” A gentle, curious voice asked from beside you.

You looked over quickly, not realizing someone was next to you. Your eyes trailed upwards to meet the gaze of a young man — he couldn’t be older than 25. His hair was straight and tucked behind his ears, which propped up the frames of his dark glasses. His jawline was square, and his body was scrawny. He had the strap of a bag across his chest, which was covered by a red sweater vest. 

His eyes widened, and he took a step back, raising his hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he stuttered out. “My name’s Spencer. I’m sorry.” 

You chuckled softly at the idea that he could come off as threatening in any way. You also laughed because he looked cute when he was frazzled. 

“It’s okay,” you promised, then offered him your hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

He rubbed his hands on his pants nervously.

Without a second thought, you lowered your hand. “I get it — hands are kind of disgusting. It’s actually safer to kiss a stranger than shake their hand, ya know, considering the pathogens,” you said without thinking. You closed your eyes and laughed in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I actually said that.” 

“That’s why I don’t shake hands, actually,” Spencer responded. “Most people don’t understand.” 

“It’s a biology class you never forget,” you joked. 

“Biology? You must be smart,” he remarked kindly. “What are you going to school for?”

“I want to be a doctor,” you replied after a moment. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t something you wanted to keep talking about, either. Once people learned you were a child prodigy, it was like they forgot how to speak. “What about you? Are you still going to school?”

“I have a doctorate in Mathematics,” he replied. 

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. You don’t look old enough to have a doctorate.” 

“I was in an advanced program,” Spencer responded.

You knew a thing or two about that.

His eyes drifted to the albums in the crook of your arm. “You listen to Beethoven?” He repeated.

You chuckled, somewhat nervously. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“No! No, I uh, I think it’s great,” Spencer assured, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s a fantastic composer, one of history’s finest.”

You nodded. “I’m sure Für Elise will be on here, but I’ve heard good things about Symphony No. 9.”

Spencer smiled, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. Somehow, they made him look even more charming. “It ends with the chorus to Friedrich Schiller’s ‘An Die Freude’ poem.” 

While having a photographic memory made you remember far more than the average person, sometimes, it felt like all the information in your head — useful and not — got muddled together. When it came to passive facts, it sometimes took you a moment to recall. But, when you did, your eyes lit up and you smiled uncontrollably.

“Ode to Joy!” you exclaimed in realization. “Wow, that’s so cool.” 

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You fished it out, glancing at the notification. You got a text from your father, reading ‘When will you be home?’.

“I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Spencer asked genuinely. 

You put your phone back in your pocket and smiled. “There’s a coffee shop down the street. Can I buy you a drink?”

Spencer smiled.

Sitting in a coffee shop, laughing with a man you barely knew, sipping a latte that was impossible to make yourself… it was the closest you ever felt to being normal. 

The two of you talked about everything and nothing. You asked Spencer if he lived in town, he said he was in New York on work. He asked if you had a job, you said you worked at a hospital in the city. He assumed you were an ER technician or a CNA, you didn’t deny. You knew you should feel guilty for lying to the poor guy, but in the grand scheme of the conversation, it didn’t seem to matter. You were able to talk to him freely and easily, and it wasn’t just about your degree or how you completed high school in the span of 2 months.

By the time you looked down at your watch, you realized hours had passed. A waitress had kindly swapped the two of you out for plain, black coffee, and she regularly made her rounds to refill your mugs. 

“It’s already 3 o’clock,” you said in shock, looking at your watch. “I promised my friends I would meet them for dinner.” 

“I should get going too,” Spencer agreed, somewhat sadly. “Work never does itself.” 

You threw down a twenty dollar bill, knowing it was enough to cover the bill plus a tip. Still, Spencer reached for his wallet.

“You said you live in DC, right Spencer?” You asked.

He nodded. 

“You’ll pay next time, then,” you said with a smile.

You weren’t sure what made you feel so bold all of a sudden, but clearly, it was working. Spencer grinned and looked down before nodding.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Where were you?” Your father asked the moment you got through the door.

You slung your backpack onto the couch. He didn’t even bother to look up from his laptop as he spoke to you.

“I was out,” you replied simply. “Idol, Jax and I ate dinner together.”

“You said you’d be back from shopping at 3,” he retorted. He wore his glasses on the tip of his nose as he observed the screen sitting in his lap. Your father was by no means an ugly man, but the manner made him appear older. 

You shrugged. “Plans change. Public transportation is unreliable on a good day.” 

Your dad finally looked up for the first time in the conversation. He observed the gift bag in your hand. “What’s that?”

“A little something from Jax and Idol,” you replied. “They saw it and thought of me.” 

“That’s nice of them,” he said before getting back to his work.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “really nice.” 

“What’s that, dear?” Your father asked as you walked up the stairs.

“I said I’ll be in my room if you need me!” you lied.

Of course it was nice to get a gift from your best friends. However, it was even nicer to get one from your sole parent. Hell, you’d even accept some acknowledgment. 

All you wanted on your 18th birthday was to be seen, and your dad couldn’t even seem to do that. 

Once you closed the door to your bedroom, the tears began to flow. In anger, you picked up the ‘anatomically correct’ gummy bear figurine you got last year on your birthday. The clear case was obviously that of a gummy bear, but on the inside was a skeleton and colored organs. It was equally creepy as it was cute. You loved it. 

But, in a moment of rage, you picked it up and threw it on the floor. The case popped open and the pieces split apart. The skeleton dismembered, the organs shifted from their place to the floor. You joined them there, curling up into a ball as you sobbed quietly. 

You’d put the pieces back tomorrow. You’d do the same with yourself.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Pediatrics wants you back on their floor,” Cabello remarked. 

The two of you stood at the front desk, reviewing a few charts. Hospital staff, paramedics, and strangers swirled around you — there was never a dull moment at Carabine Memorial’s ER. 

“Everyone wants me,” you said back, flipping to the next page. 

Cabello was silent for a moment, which wasn’t his normal behavior. He always seemed to have a reply or a retort of some kind. You smirked in success. Maybe your friends’ advice could get you somewhere. 

“Your Senior Resident thinks you haven’t picked a specialty yet,” Cabello continued. 

“I’ve been in the Emergency Department for 2 years,” you replied, closing your binder and handing it off to a nurse. You finally looked at your superior. “I don’t want to be a surgeon, I want nothing to do with palliative care or cardio, and pediatrics isn’t my strong suit. The ER makes sense for me: it’s fast, reliant on instincts, and I get to see a little bit of everything.”

“But is Emergency work what you want to do, Y/N?” Cabello asked, leaning against the counter.

“Is it what you want me to do?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “Or are you trying to get rid of me, Jason?”

He moved back in shock. “It’s Dr. Cabello,” he corrected calmly. 

You took a step forward. “It’s Dr. Abner.” 

Very rarely, you were grateful for a swarm of people to come through the ambulance bay doors. In that moment, however, you were. And apparently, the universe picked up on that, because it wasn’t just paramedics that stormed in — several police officers came in with them. 

“Where is the department manager?” One officer called.

Cabello approached, and you followed suit. 

“I’m Dr. Cabello, the Director of the Emergency Department,” Cabello declared. “What do you need, officer?” 

“We believe this boy — Joshua Parker — is the second victim of a serial offender,” the officer described in a low voice. “I can discuss details later, in private, but for now, I need you to know the basics.”

“Which are?”

He glanced around briefly, before staring at you. 

“She can be here,” Cabello said, surprising both you and the officer. “Aside from me, Dr. Abner will be Joshua’s primary physician as long as he’s in this department.” 

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to punish you or not. Regardless, you didn’t object.

“Joshua shows signs of serious trauma and PTSD,” the officer explained. “The only way we got him into the ambulance was by sedating him. Once he wakes up, odds are, he’ll become violent again. You should prepare your staff.” 

Cabello nodded, before turning to you. “Go, make yourself useful,” he instructed, “but only use whoever you have to. Don’t smother the poor boy with unnecessary nurses or aids.” 

You nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

The police officer was absolutely correct: once Joshua woke up, it was almost impossible to do any work on him. He wouldn’t stop screaming, especially the words ‘let me out’, and whenever someone tried to touch him, he began to thrash around. Once another resident and a nurse managed to hold his arm down for an IV, he began biting at them. It was equally heartbreaking and scary. 

After consulting with your senior Resident, you decided the only way to get any work done on Joshua was to sedate him for a second time. While it wasn’t necessarily good for him, neither was the violent behavior he exhibited when conscious. Sedation seemed like the lesser of two evils. 

When Josh was unconscious, you and Cabello managed to work efficiently. You meticulously pulled at splinters buried in his skin, while Cabello dealt with several puncture wounds all over his body. Where his skin wasn’t red and blotchy, it appeared to be a faint purple color. The whites of his eyes had gone yellow and the muscles in his legs and arms were atrophied. 

“Someone put this boy through hell,” you muttered, shaking your head. 

Cabello snapped off his gloves, throwing them in the trashcan by the door. “I’m not assigning you any more patients this shift,” he said. “Joshua is your top priority.” 

“Understood.” 

Cabello nodded, then stepped out.

Joshua was asleep for at least 3 hours after his second round of medication. You spent most of that time in his room, researching ways to help him once he woke up. Eventually, Cabello came in with a distraught couple, and without saying anything, you knew they were his parents. You decided to give them some space. 

“A few agents from the FBI are here,” Cabello said as the two of you walked to the front desk. “They want to talk about Joshua’s condition.” 

“I can handle it,” you assured.

“They’re just down the hall. You three can talk in the conference room.” 

You stuck your hands in the pockets of your scrub top, walking down the hall with a sigh. Compared to the rest of the department, it was calm; hardly anyone brushed by you, and the steady buzz of noise turned into a faint chatter the farther you walked. 

When you finally looked up, you stopped dead in your tracks. 

The hair, the sweater vest, the glasses… you’d recognize him anywhere. When Spencer met your gaze, it was clear he remembered you too. 

In that moment, you really wished he hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> This story is part of the[LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),   
> which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
>  **
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> **  
> **This Author replies to comments.** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
>   
>   
> **
> 
>   
> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> Until next time... xx 


	2. Anatome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (belated) New Years, guys! Thanks for feedback and support from Chapter 1 — it's a major reason this chapter was even written <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jiue6baSGMo)

“Hello,” you said awkwardly, approaching Spencer’s partner. “I’m Dr. Abner. You’re here for Joshua?” 

The woman looked you up and down, a soft frown contorting her features. “Aren’t you a little young to be a doctor?” She asked curiously. 

You crossed your arms. “I’m in my 5th year of Residency, my Fellowship starts next year. Believe me, I’m more than qualified.” 

“Of course you are. I’m sorry you felt I suggested otherwise,” she apologized. “My name’s Emily Prentiss, and this my colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI,” Emily said, showing you her badge. “What can you tell us about Joshua’s condition?” 

“For now, he’s fine — physically, at least,” you answered, moving your hands to your pockets. “He’s dehydrated, but someone made sure he ate. He came in covered in splinters and puncture wounds, all of which were superficial. His mental state concerns me more than anything: he came in thrashing and screaming. We had to sedate him in order to get any work done.”

“What was he screaming?” Spencer asked.

Up until then, you managed to avoid eye contact with him. When you finally met his gaze, an intense wave of shame and guilt washed over you. You knew lying to him was wrong, as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise. If you had just been honest, and you would’ve saved yourself the mess you were currently in. 

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on that, though. You had to be a professional first, a person with flaws later. 

“‘Let me out’,” you quoted. 

“Were his muscles atrophied?” Spencer continued.

He could be professional too. That was a relief, at least. 

You nodded. “He’ll need physical therapy, but it’s nothing he can’t recover from.”

“Is it possible for us to see him?” Emily asked.

You shook your head. “I’m sorry, but no. He’s still sleeping, so even his parents can’t speak to him. It’s impossible to know how he’ll react to them, let alone two strangers who want to make him relive everything.” 

“That’s not our intention, exactly,” Emily said.

“I know,” you agreed, “but you’re here to solve a kidnapping. I’m here to treat my patient. From my side, it’s black and white.” you paused. “I hope you catch the guy. Really, I do. But for now, you’ll have to do it without Josh’s help.”

“We understand,” Emily assured. She reached into her pocket, handing you a small business card. “Please, give us a call if his condition changes.” 

You nodded, slipping the card into the front right pocket of your scrub top. “I will.” 

They both walked towards the exit. Spencer didn’t spare a second glance. Still, something felt wrong. It didn’t feel right to let him walk away without getting the chance to say something, anything. 

“Dr. Reid,” you said, stepping forward. 

He turned on his heel. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked.

He looked back to Emily, who was already by the door. 

“I’ll see you outside,” She responded, then disappeared around the corner.

“I can explain,” you said the moment Emily was out of earshot. 

“What’s there to explain?” Spencer chuckled dryly. “You lied to me.” 

There wasn’t any anger in his voice. More than anything, there was an underlying tone of… disappointment. You couldn’t tell which would feel worse — venom, or ice. 

“You’re not exactly winning any awards either,” you defended. “You said you’re a Mathematician.”

“I said I have a Doctorate in Mathematics, which is true,” he pointed out.

“I said I worked at the hospital, which is also true,” you retorted.

“You never said you were an MD!”

“You never said you worked for the FBI!” you exclaimed. “I mean, seriously, how many degrees do you have?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?!”

“I’ve met other prodigies, Spencer,” you deadpanned. “If you don’t end up an MD or a scientist, you get like, a million degrees.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer replied. “I mean, you’re not my girlfriend or anything. Right?” 

You weren’t sure why that stung so bad.

“...Right,” you agreed. “We met in a record shop, had coffee together, and we went our separate ways. It was casual.”

“Right,” he said with a brief nod. “Casual.”

You nodded, looking down at your hands. You looked back up. “So… no hard feelings?” 

He smiled softly. “No hard feelings.” 

“Cool.” 

Spencer walked towards the door, opening it slightly. Mid-day Summer sunlight poured in. He turned towards you, one hand on the railing. 

“I can still call you,” he said. It came out as more of a statement than a question. 

“Of course,” you assured, then added, “but remember, I’m not your girlfriend or anything.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but by the end of the sentence, it felt like you were choking out the words. Still, Spencer smiled and laughed under his breath. You couldn’t help but do the same.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I met someone. And I think I totally screwed it up.” 

Idol stopped sucking down her iced tea to stare at you. The fry Jax just stuck in his mouth dangled off of his lip. 

Your friends were nice enough to occasionally surprise you with lunch that wasn’t cafeteria food or Subway. Today, you were surprised with a Gyro, fresh from the Greek Market on the other side of Brooklyn. However, you were so preoccupied that all you did was pick at it. 

“You met someone?” 

“Of course you fucked it up.” 

Jax and Idol had a tendency to talk over each other, but this time, you clearly heard what each of them said. You groaned, setting your forehead against the table. 

“Who did you meet?!” Jax prompted, lightly kicking you under the table. 

“This really cute guy who works for the FBI,” you whined. “He has at least one Doctorate, and he’s only 24. But besides that, he’s nerdy, and adorable, and I feel like I can tell him anything.” 

“And you screwed it up… how?” Idol asked, eyebrows raised. “He sounds like you with a penis.” 

“I lied,” you said, sitting up straight. “I sold myself short, made him think I was some clueless kid trying to figure out where I belong in the world.” 

“Wow, you’re right,” Idol said, nodding her head. “That’s horrible. Plus, you forgot to tell him about how your father is emotionally stunted and how your mother left when you were 5. You’re practically a pathological liar.” 

You stared at her. “Now is not the time.” 

Jax snickered. “She has a point, Y/N,” he said. “If you started every relationship by bragging about your memory and sharing your emotional trauma, even Idol and I probably wouldn’t talk to you.” 

“Seriously, you think you screwed up because you talked to him like a normal person?” Idol asked. 

“It’s not how I talked to him, it’s what I said,” you argued. “I just feel like, I don’t know, he thinks I undermined him, or something.”

“Did he tell you about his multiple degrees and how he works for the FBI the first time you met?” Idol said, taking a drink.

“No one does that.” 

“Exactly!” Jax said. “Getting to know someone is what makes the start of a relationship fun. It would be so boring if you gave everything away the first time someone looked at you.” 

“What the hell do you know about relationships?” Idol interrogated Jax. “You broke up with your last boyfriend because you thought he smelled like garlic bread. Who the fuck doesn’t like garlic bread?” 

As your best friends argued — _‘When you’re in the middle of a fight, the last thing you want is to crave Olive Garden!’_ —, you smiled and rolled your eyes. In some ways, you were a genius, but in others, they were so much smarter.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told them — no,” you said, sitting down with your arms crossed. “I don’t think he’s ready for outside visitors.” 

“These aren’t ‘visitors’ we’re talking about here, Miss Abner: this is the FBI.” 

It took every ounce of self control to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. To you, Hospital Administrators were tolerable on a good day, and an absolute nightmare at the worst. Apparently, Selvester Donell was going for nightmare status today. 

“I don’t care if the President walked through these doors demanding to speak to Josh,” you replied. “My answer is the same, it doesn’t matter who asks.” 

“We haven’t been able to perform a psychological evaluation yet,” Cabello responded. 

He was leaning against the windowsill, hands pressed to the wooden surface. He seemed neutral to the situation. You, on the other hand, were practically fuming. 

“You don’t need a psych degree to know that kid is seriously messed up,” you retorted. “In fact, you don’t even need to be a doctor,” you continued, making a point to look at Donell. “He hardly recognizes his own parents. The FBI won’t get anything out of him.” 

“I understand this is difficult to accept,” Donell said, making you actually roll your eyes, “-but if Joshua could be of _any_ aid to their investigation, it’s important they speak to him.”

“Why, because it would look good in the press?” You asked. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, cocking his head.

The gloves were coming off. 

You stood up, putting your hands on your hips. 

“I get it — ‘Highland General helps catch Kidnapper’ is a great headline,” you said, “but it’s not my job to care about headlines. It’s my job to take care of my patients. I keep their best interest in mind, not the media’s.”

“Miss Abner, are you implying I care more about the media than I do our patients?” Donell asked. “Because I can assure you, that is not the case.”

Strike two.

“Then why don’t you trust my judgement?” you asked. “When’s the last time you diagnosed a patient, Mr. Donell? Have you even seen Joshua since he got here? Do you even know what he looks like, let alone the symptoms of severe PTSD he’s showing? What is it? My age? Or are you old-fashioned, and it’s because I’m a woman? Hmm? Pick your poison, Sir.” 

He was practically red in the face. “Young lady, I do _not _appreciate —”__

__“It’s ‘Doctor’,” you corrected, setting your hands on his desk. “Not ‘Miss Abner’, not ‘Young Lady’. It’s ‘Doctor’.”_ _

__Before Donell could even reply, Cabello was pushing you away and out of the room._ _

__“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed after closing the door. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you, Y/N?”_ _

__“I realized no matter what I do or what I say, it’s not good enough for any of you,” you stated bluntly. You weren’t even that angry anymore: it felt so good to say exactly what you were thinking. “I might as well tell you how I actually feel instead of kissing your ass all the time.”_ _

__“So what, you disrespect your superiors? You risk your job, maybe your career?” he growled. “You’re young, but you don’t have to be dumb. That’s a choice you make.”_ _

__You actually laughed. “Seriously? That’s what you have to say?”_ _

__“What you did in there was stupid,” Cabello said bluntly. “I understand you’re pissed, but you don’t get to say whatever you want and expect no repercussions.”_ _

__“No,” you said, shaking your head, “you don’t get it. You were supposed to have my back in there, and what did you do? You sat there, and you watched, and you said nothing.”_ _

__“Joshua is your patient, not mine.”_ _

__“It’s not about that!” you actually laughed. “You’re a doctor, and you’re a doctor he trusts. _‘We haven’t performed a psych evaluation’?_ Seriously? You were there when he was admitted. You saw the way he was acting, just like I did. You know he isn’t to relive anything: not for me, for his parents, for the FBI, not for god himself. But no, you sided with him, because it was easier. It was easier to fuck me and a 10-year-old boy over than it is to stand up for what you know is right.” _ _

__“They’re transferring Joshua to the Pediatrics unit as we speak,” Cabello said calmly. “Tomorrow, you'll be working that floor. You’re done for the day, Y/N.”_ _

__“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” you whispered, before leaving._ _

____

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You didn’t tell Jax and Idol you left work early. In fact, you didn’t even tell your father. You just took a cab home, walked upstairs, and collapsed onto your bed. 

You didn’t fall asleep right away. In fact, you spent what had to be hours just laying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking.

Maybe you weren’t cut out for this. It was an easy choice, after all, and it was one you made when you were a child. Back then, everyone loved you before they even met you — before even graduating high school, you had countless colleges reaching out, offering you a full ride and then some. You got your undergraduate degree in a year, and your medical degree in another. You started your internship at age 13, and even back then, you fought like hell to prove yourself. 

What if you made the wrong choice? What if you were supposed to do something like Spencer — work a demanding yet satisfying field, constantly pursue degrees, help people more than you piss them off? You couldn’t even remember the last time someone thanked you for the work you do. Praise wasn’t the point, but it never hurt. What if all those years of hard work and building a reputation amounted to nothing? 

What if you weren’t supposed to be a doctor?

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You spent most of the next day filling out paperwork. Every patient (other than Joshua) had a Resident assigned to them, meaning you were left with humbling tasks, such as monitoring fluids and reviewing medication orders. It wasn’t bad by any means — you liked to help out nurses whenever you could, considering how much they help you. It was just that, compared to the ER, pediatrics was a ghost town. 

“Did Cabello finally get tired of your ass?” 

You smiled, looking up to see Ben leaning over the nurses’ station counter. The two of you were in the same year of Residency, but you haven’t actively worked together for two years. Still, you considered him a close friend. After all, you used to spend every waking moment together, and you did so without ripping each other’s heads off. Not all residents could say the same about their colleagues. 

“Yeah,” you played along, “or maybe he knew this floor needed a good resident.” 

Ben put a hand on his chest, pretending to have been shot. “You wound me, Y/N. Truly.” 

You chuckled softly. It was a brief distraction — reality returned moments later.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Ben asked, his expression immediately changing. 

You managed to smile faintly; that man could read people like a book. Or, maybe, you were just that obvious as a person. 

“It’s nothing,” you brushed him off. Then, you considered. “How did you know you wanted to go into Pediatrics?” 

He shrugged. “When we worked our first-year rotations, it was like something… clicked. It felt like Peds is what I was made for. I don’t really know how to explain it. ...What makes you love ER so much?”

“I don’t know if I love it,” you admitted. “I don’t know what I love anymore, honestly.”

Ben walked around the counter, rolling up a chair beside you. 

“You still have time,” Ben assured. “Compared to the rest of us, you have the rest of your life to change your mind. And hey, if you decide ER isn’t for you, whatever. Just find what makes you happy, and do it. That’s all any of us can do, really.” 

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Ben.” 

He kissed your scalp before leaning his cheek against the top of your head. 

The elevator doors down the hall opened. Frowning, both you and Ben stood up. Visiting hours were over, but most of the night shift staff had already punched in. 

When you turned the corner, your breath escaped your chest. 

“Can we help you?” Ben asked, clearly confused. 

“Spencer,” you said instead, approaching him with a grin. It turned into a look of confusion. “What are you doing here?” 

“Dr. Cabello said you’d be up here,” Spencer said. He tugged at the shoulder strap across his chest, hesitating to speak any further. 

“Ben, I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” You said kindly. 

Though confused, he nodded slightly. “Have a good night, Y/N.” 

You patted his arm before turning back to Spencer. 

“Walk me out?” You asked.

You made it to the ground level without saying anything. In your defense, Spencer didn’t say anything either, and he was the one who showed up unannounced. Your heart throbbed in your ears as your mind raced for an explanation. Millions of words, thousands of math equations, hundreds of books… and you couldn’t think of a single reason he would show up. 

But there he was. And so were you. And for the first time ever, you knew you weren’t the smartest person in the room. It was oddly comforting, in a way. 

When you finally reached the residents’ locker room, you turned to him.

“Why are you here, Spencer?” You asked softly.

“I just…” he rubbed the back of his neck, then straightened his glasses. “I wanted to let you know that we caught our Unsub. Unidentified Subject-”

“Unidentified Subject,” you finished with him, then smiled. “You’re not the only one who reads.” 

Spencer grinned, glancing at the floor.

“He’ll be in prison for a long time, probably the rest of his life,” Spencer continued. “He won’t be able to hurt boys like Joshua anymore.” 

“That’s great,” you nodded. “Good work.” 

Spencer nodded as well. After a few awkward seconds passed, he took a step forward.

“Joshua is doing great, by the way,” you practically rushed out. It felt like you should keep the conversation going, for whatever reason. Almost as if, if you kept talking, you’d eventually think of something to say. “He had a real conversation with his parents. I even saw him smile a few times. The Physical Therapist thinks all he needs is a year, tops.” 

Spencer grinned. “That’s fantastic.” 

You smiled in agreement.

“Have a good night, Y/N,” Spencer said, not wanting to overstay his welcome. 

“You too, Spencer,” you returned. You watched him walk down the hall and out of sight before disappearing into the locker room.

You found your locker and pressed your back to it, closing your eyes with a sigh. 

It felt like everything in your life was slipping through your fingers, in one way or another. You’ve never had a sense of control when it came to a lot of things, but now, it felt like you had control over nothing. Your mom was still gone, your dad still made no effort to even speak to you. All of your superiors still think of you as disposable, or at least, they still treat you that way. You lied to Spencer, and in some ways, it felt like you still were. 

You didn’t want to feel that way anymore. For once, you wanted to have control over something. 

You bolted out of the locker room and ran down the hall. You made your way through the busy ER; you swore you heard Cabello call after you. You didn’t care. 

You found the front exit and waited for the set of automatic doors to open. You began running again, knowing if you didn’t stop, you’d be able to catch up. Sure enough, halfway across the parking lot, you saw a tall man in a tweed jacket. 

“I don’t do casual!” you blurted out the moment you saw Spencer.

He turned around with furrowed brows. His expression softened the moment he saw you.

“What?”

“I don’t do casual,” you repeated, then chuckled to yourself. “When I met you, I lied. I don’t know why — it felt easier that way, I guess. I don’t want to lie to you anymore. So… I thought I should tell you that I don’t do casual. I’m not…. I’m not half of anything, you know? I’m not half of a daughter, half of a friend. I don’t want to be half of a girlfriend.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. You managed to take a step forward, and in order to busy your hands, you straightened the lapel of Spencer’s jacket. “So, if you don’t want our relationship to be casual… then you should give me a call.” 

You decided to leave it at that — the ball was in his court now. As you turned to walk away, it felt like a weight was lifted off of your chest. Of course, if he didn’t call, you’d be pretty bummed. You’d deal with that later, though. Because for now, you felt in-control of something, consequences be damned. 

“I didn’t come here to tell you about the case,” Spencer said. 

A grin tugged at your lips. You turned around, shoving your hands in your lab coat. 

“I came here because…” Spencer said, stopping to clear his throat and lick his lips. “I came here because I wanted to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since we said goodbye in that cafe.” 

You smiled, taking a step closer to him. “Do you still want to?” you asked, setting your arms on his shoulders. “Do you still want to kiss me?” 

Spencer set a hand on his cheek. Using his thumb, he gently tilted your chin up before pressing his lips to yours.

  
_≻───── “It’s ordinary to love the beautiful, but it’s beautiful to love the ordinary.” ~Unknown ─────≺_

__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> This story is part of the[LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),   
> which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
>  **
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> **  
> **This Author replies to comments.** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
>   
>   
> **
> 
>   
> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> This story has quite a few OCs... I hope it's not too hard to keep track, lol. More of the BAU team will be coming later! It just doesn't make sense for Y/N to be thrown into their world yet, ya know? ( _yet_ being the key word here).
> 
> Also, what do we think of the bookend quote? I don't know if I'll do it for every chapter yet, but this one was too beautiful not to include.
> 
> Until next time... xx


	3. Tread on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not a medical professional — my only 'training' is google. 
> 
> Also, I'm in a local musical, so between that and my job, updates may be a little spacious. However, I have a good idea of where I want this story to go, so as long as people keep reading, I'll keep writing!
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmXF29WW2H0)

_You sat at the dinner table, legs swinging back and forth. You were still too short to reach the floor when you sat down._

_“Now, Y/N,” your dad said, pushing a few pamphlets towards you, “there’s a lot of choices you have to make. Just remember — none of them are wrong.”_

_“What kind of choices, daddy?” You asked, opening a pamphlet advertisement for Harvard Law._

_“You’re done with high school, baby,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “Now, you have to choose a career. If you want, we can just put you in elective courses for now, but you’ll get through those in no time. It’s time to start thinking about the future.”_

_You looked at a pamphlet advertising Columbia University’s Political Science program. A 9-year-old, who just earned her GED, was looking at college pamphlets. It was impossible to find weird: it was normal. Your normal, anyways._

_“Why are you showing me all these?” You asked. You recently lost a tooth, so you had a sort of lisp as you spoke._

_“You have choices to make,” he repeated. “There’s a lot of things you could do. You’d make a fine ambassador, judge… you could be President one day, if you play your cards right.”_

_You slowly took everything in. There were so many different papers, all of which said virtually the same thing: ‘our school is the best!’. None of it seemed to matter, though. You made up your mind a long time ago._

_You pushed the papers back towards your father. “I know what I want to do.”_

_He raised his eyebrows with a chuckle. “What’s that, Y/N?”_

_“I want to be a doctor.”_

_You’ve never see him smile so wide before._

__

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You tossed your keys into the dish by the front door, feeling weightless. You smiled and leaned against the closed door, taking in a breath. 

You had a feeling many of your firsts would be with Spencer. 

Your father entered from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dish towel. Even while cooking or doing chores, he wore a white button down shirt and the same, bland tie.  
“Where have you been?” He asked, lifting his arm to check the expensive watch on his wrist. “Your shift ended at 7.” 

You stood up, staring straight ahead. “I think I have a boyfriend,” you said to yourself in realization. You hardly acknowledged your dad’s presence, let alone his words. 

You walked across the hall, a grin still clad on your face. You made it to the end of the staircase before your dad replied — it took him that long to process what you said. 

“I never said you could have a boyfriend,” he called after you.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t ask, then,” you retorted, still grinning. You couldn’t help it. It felt like you were you were walking on clouds, 10,000 feet above everyone else. 

For the first time in a long time, you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“He actually said that?” Idol asked, eyebrows raised. “He actually said he came back to kiss you?” 

You nodded, grinning all over again. You handed a food court worker money for what you ordered, thanking them. “Sounds totally fake, doesn’t it?” 

“No kidding!” Jax whined. “Why can’t I find a guy like that?” 

“Why can’t I find a guy, period?” Idol asked. Jax opened his mouth. Idol raised her finger. “Don’t answer that.” 

“It’s like the universe is finally throwing me a bone,” you said, picking an empty table with four chairs. You set the tray of food down while your friends chose their seats. Idol, as always, sat next to you, while Jax moved a chair on the other side of the table to the center. 

“Oh yeah, because the world has been sooo harsh to you,” Idol grumbled. “Which part is the worst? Having a stable and lucrative career at 18, or living in a household with a $100,000+ income?”

You smiled knowingly. “In a lot of ways, I’m lucky,” you agreed, “very lucky. But believe me, if my father made a quarter of what he does now, but was twice the man, I’d be much happier.” 

“Speaking of your dad, how does he feel about Spencer?” Jax asked, taking a carton of fries off of the tray.

You shrugged, picking a burger and order of fries. “Don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.” 

As if on cue, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out of your pocket to see you received a text from your dad, saying he needed to talk to you. You ignored it, setting your phone face-down on the table. 

You looked up to see Jax and Idol staring at you.

“What?” you asked.

“You have to leave, don’t you?” Jax asked.

“Go ahead,” Idol said, “we’ll catch up.” 

You frowned. “What? Guys, it was just my dad.” 

“It wasn’t the hospital?” Jax asked, genuinely surprised. “You can stay?”

“You can stay!” Idol squealed, wrapping her arms around you and hugging you tight. You laughed aloud. “We can still pick out dresses!” 

“We can still do what now?” you asked.

“Homecoming is next weekend,” Idol said, “and you’re coming with.” 

“Oh, I don’t know…” you said wearily. “I’m a little old for that stuff.”

Jax chuckled. “Y/N… you’re only a year older than us.”

“You’re 18, not 80,” Idol agreed. “You’re going to spend the night out, forget about work, and maybe, you’ll have a little fun.” 

“You could bring Spencer too, if you want,” Jax suggested. “All students can have a single, pre-approved guest. You’ll be Idol’s guest, Spencer could be mine.” 

“Why, so you can try stealing him from me?” You teased.

Jax sucked on his smoothie straw.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“You’re seriously still up here?” 

You smiled, looking up to see Ben making his way over. You were already sitting at the nurses’ station, filing paperwork as you waited for your shift to technically start. 

“I guess I’m just impossible to get rid of,” you joked. 

“I’m surprised Cabello hasn’t stolen you back yet,” Ben said, taking a seat next to you. “ER is chronically understaffed, especially when it comes to docs like you.” 

You bumped your shoulder against his, chuckling softly. “I’m not sure Cabello is gonna want me back anytime soon.” 

“Why’s that?”

“...I may or may not have mouthed off an Administrator, and he may or may not have been in the room for it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “So what I’m hearing is you’re lucky to have any job in this hospital.” 

“That wouldn’t be an exaggeration,” you agreed with a sigh. 

“What’s going on with you?” Ben asked softly. “That’s not like you. And it’s definitely not like you to run from it.” 

You scoffed. “I’m not running — Cabello is the one who banished me up here.”

“That doesn’t stop you from talking to him,” Ben argued, “and it definitely doesn’t stop you from apologizing.” 

“Yeah, I know,” you admitted. “I’m just so… conflicted lately. When I’m not busy living in my father’s shadow, I’m desperately proving I’m worth having here.”

“Still trying to figure out what you love?” He asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” 

Your phone vibrated on the table in front of you. Your dad texted you again, this time asking if the two of you could take a lunch break together and talk. He was asleep by the time you got home from the mall the day prior. 

“Who’s that, your boyfriend?” Ben asked.

You looked over, unable to conceal your surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“That guy you walked out with the other night?” He said. “Come on, I’m not stupid. I know something is going on.”

“Maybe…” you said, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Do you want something to be going on?” 

“Maybe…” you repeated. The two of your shared a laugh.

“Does he treat you well?” Ben asked, a bit more seriously. 

“He’s a gentleman,” you assured.

“Good. You deserve nothing less.” 

When you were about to thank him, an alarm from room 7 began to go off. A frantic CNA rushed out. 

“Help, I need a doctor!” she asked, head darting around. 

Both you and Ben stood, rushing to the room. You took off your stethoscope as you jogged. 

“Just take deep breaths, baby,” a patient’s mother soothed, though she was obviously frightened. 

Her daughter, who couldn’t be older than 9, sat up in her bed, taking shallow and shaky breaths. The pulse/ox monitor beside her bed showed her heart rate was in the 160s, but the oxygen saturation in her blood was dropping by the second. 

“Hi sweetheart, I’m Dr. Abner, my friends call me Y/N,” you introduced as you grabbed the oxygen mask hanging on the wall behind the bed. You turned the valve before putting it over the patient’s mouth, over the cannula already in her nose. “What’s your name?”

“Her name’s Josie,” her mother answered for her. “She has Cystic Fibrosis; she’s in for a flare up. It wasn’t this bad before. Please, help her.” 

“Ma’am, I need you to step back,” Ben instructed, gently pulling her away from the bed. 

“Josie, I’m gonna take a listen to your chest, okay?” you said, putting the eartips of your stethoscope in. “This might be a little cold.” 

You pressed the bell to her back, where her gown was open. You listened as she frantically breathed in and out, and aside from the normal crackle of mucus heard in CF patients, she sounded okay. No wheezing, or the sound of air escaping. You heard air movement in the top and bottom of each lung, meaning it wasn’t a pneumothorax or atelectasis of any kind.

“Looks like she’s in A-Fib,” Ben noted. He stood on the other side of the bed, while Josie’s mother stood at the foot, holding back tears. 

“I don’t think she is,” you replied. Your gut told you it wasn’t an issue with the heart. 

“What do you want to do, Y/N?” Ben asked.

You pursed your lips, grabbing her chart from the end of the bed. 

“Get me 5 miligrams of intravenous diazepam,” you instructed, looking through her list of medications. “I’m gonna start her on another albuterol nebulizer treatment, followed by a Dornase Alfa treatment. I’m also upping her hypertonic saline percentage from 7% to 10%.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll be right back.” 

As Ben retrieved the meds, you prepared the albuterol nebulizer treatment. Josie had been prescribed them regularly since being admitted, so thankfully, all the supplies you needed sat on the table beside you. 

You opened a sterile mask and medicine cup. You unscrewed the cup and emptied a syringe of medicine into it before putting the cup back together. You attached the mask to the cup, then opened a new tube and connected it to the cup. Finally, you plugged the tube into the machine and turned it on. You swapped the oxygen mask on Josie’s face for the new one, which was steadily releasing a thin, white vapor. 

By the time you got the neb started, Ben thankfully returned with the other medications. Your main concern was the diazepam, so it was the first thing you reached for after putting on a pair of gloves. 

“Josie, I need you to keep breathing for me, okay?” you instructed as you inserted the syringe into the PICC line in her arm. “You should start to feel better in a few minutes.”

You slowly pushed down the plunger on the syringe, watching the medication flow into the line and eventually Josie’s arm. You instructed Josie to lean back and focus on her breathing. It took a few minutes, but eventually, her heart rate began to decrease, and her oxygen saturation improved. 

“Feeling better?” you asked with a smile.

She nodded. 

“I’ll come back to check on you in a bit,” you promised. 

Before you could make it out the door, Josie’s mom pulled you into a hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. She quickly returned to her daughter’s side, running a gentle hand through Josie’s hair.  
You closed the door behind you with a sigh. 

“If Cabello doesn’t take you back, we’d be more than happy to keep you up here,” Ben assured, no trace of joking in his voice. “That was amazing, Y/N.” 

You smiled. “Thank you, Ben.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Pediatrics was slow for the rest of the night. When you ran out of random tasks, you spent most of your time in an empty conference room, either reading or researching. You took brief breaks texting Spencer, who seemed to be just as bored as you. You got a few more texts from your father, who threatened to visit your floor if you didn’t return his messages. You once again decided to ignore him. He could bitch about Spencer when you were home. 

You heard a knock on the door. Spinning around in your chair, you saw the last person you expected to.

“...Dr. Cabello,” you stated neutrally. 

“Dr. Silvera said I might find you here,” he replied. “May I come in?” 

A part of you wanted to say that he was your chief Resident, or that the room wasn’t your office, or maybe a mix of the two. But considering you were already on his bad side, you didn’t want to push it. You decided to just nod and point to the chair next to you. 

“Benjamin said you did some impressive work earlier,” he said, taking a seat next to you.

You closed your laptop. “8-year-old female with Cystic Fibrosis showed symptoms of AFib. I passed 5 milligrams of diazepam, and in conjunction with an albuterol treatment, her breathing returned to normal within 15 minutes.” 

Ben — or ‘Dr. Silvera’, as Cabello called him — liked to brag about you whenever possible. You genuinely didn’t see what about your diagnosis was so impressive.

“You stuck to your guns,” Cabello said. “You took a step back and looked at it from every perspective.” 

“The poor girl had a panic attack,” you said. “The signs were obvious.” 

“In a normal patient, maybe,” he agreed, “but many doctors, especially with your experience, would have blamed the increased heart rate and shortness of breath on her CF.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you said. It was easier to agree than argue.

After a beat, Cabello continued.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, how you said I was supposed to stand up for you,” Cabello said. “You were right.”

You adjusted your posture. It was almost hard to believe your ears. 

“We didn’t value your professional opinion — we underestimated you. I underestimated you. I apologize for that,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “You’re a good doctor, Y/N. I hope you know I don’t doubt that.” 

“You have a weird way of showing it sometimes,” you remarked, then chuckled softly. 

“I know,” he agreed with a soft laugh. “I’m working on it. You’re only a year older than my daughter, but you’re lightyears ahead of her. It’s hard to remember that sometimes. I’ll get there, though.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you said, offering him your hand. 

He shook it briefly, then stood up. “You’re more than welcome to return to the ER, if you’d like,” Cabello said. “Donnell isn’t too happy with you right now, but it’s nothing that will end up on your record.” 

You looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“I assured him it won’t happen again,” he replied. “Will it?”

“Absolutely not,” you promised.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I can’t believe this,” your patient grumbled as you stitched up a wound on his forehead. “They’ve got children working as doctors now?! I might as well have sewed myself up.”

“I went through the same schooling as every other doctor here,” you assured. “I was just… faster than them.” 

“If you screw up my face, little lady, I’m suing this whole damn hospital,” he continued to rant. 

You ignored him, knotting the last stitch before cutting off the access thread. You snapped off your gloves and offered him a mirror. 

“The stitches should dissolve as the cut heals, so you won’t have to come in to get them removed,” you explained. “If you pick at them, you’ll end up right back here, so I advise you to leave them alone.” 

“Hmm,” he said in observation, staring at your work in the mirror. “What kind of scar am I getting out of this?” 

“The wound was superficial, and the stitches are practically perfect, so scarring should be minimal,” you replied. 

“Maybe I won’t sue you after all,” he said under his breath. 

“Well, if you change your mind, the statute of limitations on medical malpractice is 2½ years in the state of New York,” you said, then turned to a nurse standing beside the bed. “Can you finish up, please?” 

She nodded.

“Thank you,” you said. 

When you turned around, you were greeted by a familiar face.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, pulling him aside. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d bring you some lunch,” he said, lifting a white take out bag he was holding. “Are you a lawyer now too?”

You laughed briefly. “I uh, I just read all the books.” 

“Me too.”

The two of you laughed. 

“Let’s go to the lounge,” you suggested. “I can take a lunch break, we can eat together.”

Apparently, at some point, you mentioned to Spencer that it was hard to beat a good soup. He remembered, so he brought you lunch from his favorite soup and sandwich shop in Virginia.

“Aren’t you a little busy to be my delivery boy?” you joked as you took your bag apart. The cup of soup was still warm, and the sandwich smelled fresh. Your stomach growled.

“I have the day off,” Spencer replied, digging in himself.

“You should have told me! I have off tomorrow, so we could’ve gone out for dinner instead,” you said.

“Oh. Sorry.”

You chuckled. “Don’t apologize, Spence — it was really sweet. Thank you. I appreciate it. I just wish I could spend more time with you, is all.” 

“I’m not great at this stuff,” he admitted with a nervous laugh. “This is uh… this is kind of the first time I’ve done anything like this.”

You smiled. “Me too.” You paused. “I like it, though.” 

He grinned.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Spencer left after your break was over, but the two of you texted periodically throughout the rest of your shift. Turns out, the both of you had off on Friday, so you planned a trip down to Virginia to see him. He said it was no trouble visiting you, but you assured him you could use the time away from the city. 

You texted him as you walked out of work and to the parking lot. Someone called your name, and the smile you were wearing faded quickly. 

“Dad…” you said as you turned around. 

His white lab coat flapped in the wind. Normally, he would be out of Highland General and back home by 5pm, but you remembered hearing he was called in for an emergency surgery. Apparently, he got out in time in order to catch up with you.

“You’ve been ignoring my texts,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I’ve been busy,” you retorted. 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“Dad, I’m 18,” you sighed. “I’m a legal adult. Mentally, I’ve been an adult since I was 12. I think I know how to choose the right guy to date.” 

Your father frowned. “What? I don’t care about that,” he said. “Well, that’s not true; I don’t care about that now.” 

“Okay… then why do you have to talk to me?” you asked. 

He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Just spit it out, Dad,” you said with a soft laugh. 

“...Your mother is back in town.”

  
_  
_

  
_≻───── "Behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.” ~Mitch Albom ─────≺_

_  
___  
  


__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),    
>  which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>    
>  **
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> **  
>  **This Author replies to comments.** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
>   
>    
>  **
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>   
> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> Until next time... xx


	4. New York, New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys SO MUCH for bearing with me this last month. As I mentioned at the start of Ch 3, my life has been incredibly busy. 
> 
> I hope this chapter was worth the wait <3
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCSwcci7CXQ)

_“That’s it? You’re just gonna walk out?! After everything I’ve done for you, for this family?!”_

_You put your pillow over your ears, burying your face deep into it._

_Over the years, you slowly grew used to the sound of your parents arguing. In a way, it became normal to you. Then again, it was also normal for you to read multiple books in less than an hour. Your definition of normal wasn’t everyone else’s._

_“I’m sorry, Eli,” you heard your mother faintly respond._

_This time… their fight was different. You were young, and thus inexperienced when it came to certain social situations, but you could still hear the difference. Normally, your mom and dad got into screaming matches — when one voice raised, the other’s grew louder in competition. That wasn’t the case this time. Your dad’s voice was angry, but it wasn’t booming. And your mother… she could be singing a lullaby, she spoke so softly._

_“What are you going to tell Y/N?” your father asked._

_You managed to hear him through your pillow. You slowly loosened your grip until it fell back onto your bed, entirely limp. You tried not to get in their way, but you’ve never heard them argue about you before. Your curiosity got the best of you as you trudged down the stairs._

_“What do you have to tell me?” you asked once you reached the bottom of the staircase. You stood there, in your pink felt footed pajamas. You held a teddy bear by it’s arm, dangling loosely at your side._

_Your dad rubbed a hand down his face. He wore his usual button-down shirt and red tie, but the sleeves were rolled up and half of it was untucked. That wasn’t like him._

_Your mom held a large suitcase in one hand, her signature purse in the other. Her hair fell loosely at her shoulders, framing her face. Even in the poor kitchen lighting, she looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful._

_Smiling sadly, your mother set down her bags and crouched down in front of you. As she got closer to your face, you realized she had tears in her eyes._

_“Mommy’s going to go away for awhile,” she said, sniffling softly. Her hands reached out, pressing the sides of your arms._

_“You don’t have to speak in third-person, mom,” you said matter-of-factly. “I know who you are. I know how emotions work.”_

_She chuckled, but a few tears streamed down her face. She pulled you into a bone-crushing hug._

_“I love you,” she whispered, “and I always will. Remember that.”_

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Why don’t you come a little closer, baby?” your patient cooed. 

“I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much,” you muttered in reply. You worked as fast as you could, cleaning his damaged knuckles. 

You were working an overnight. Well, more specifically, you were working a 24-hour shift, and you were 19 hours into it. It was a little after 2 in the morning, which meant bars were being let out, and the ER was flooded with drunk idiots who got into bar fights. Lucky for you, you were given the flirty, overbearing drunk guy. 

You were starting to remember why you didn’t work the night shift. 

“Boyfriend? Bet he’s no match for me,” he boasted. 

The man wasn’t old by any means, but he was old enough to make his action both unwarranted AND creepy, rather than just the former. 

“You’d be surprised,” you said, bandaging his knuckles. 

His wrist was covered in dark purple bruises already; you guessed it was broken. Being drunk as a skunk, he couldn’t feel a thing, so you didn’t get much out of a physical exam. 

“A transporter will get you up to X-Ray,” you said, snapping off your gloves and tossing them into a nearby trash can. “Anything else I can get for you, sir?” 

“I can think of many things,” he said with a smirk. 

You turned around, rolling your eyes. Before you could make it out of the curtained room, however, something pulled you back by your waist. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked, pulling you into his lap. He tucked his face into your neck. The booze on his breath made you want to gag. 

You played into it. “Can you do me a favor?” you asked in a sweet voice. 

“What’s that, baby?” 

You felt his grip loosen. You turned around in his lap, slowly standing up as you trailed a hand down his shoulder and to his good hand. He let out a gross gasp, eyes closed as you touched him. A shiver — far from the good kind — sped down your spine. 

Once you reached his wrist, you picked it up and lifted it to your face. At this point, you were standing a good foot away from him. He opened his eyes in anticipation.

“You can keep your damn hands to yourself,” you spat, throwing his own arm towards his chest.

“You bitch!” he shouted, but you were already walking away. “You’ll remember me, sweetheart! I’ll make sure of it!”

“Dickhead,” you muttered as you walked off.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

While the morning shift was just coming in to start their workday, you were walking out of Highland General Hospital for the first time in 24 hours. The sunlight felt good on your skin, even as the coming winter wind sent a chill down your spine. 

You checked your phone for the first time in hours as you walked across the parking lot. Next to the phone icon sat a bright red bubble, telling you you had a new notification. Once you clicked it, you realized an unknown number left you a voicemail. You pressed the play button and raised it to your ear.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s me,” your mom said. 

You had a feeling she was the one who left it, but your heart still skipped a beat upon hearing her voice. It’d been over a decade since you last heard her speak. 

“I’m sure your father already told you I’m back in the city…” she continued with a soft laugh. “...I guess I just wanted to tell you myself.” she paused. “I’m in New York for the next 3 days. I want to talk to you. I hope you want to talk to me, too.” 

You took a deep breath. As you let it out, you went to your contact list, searching through the most recent. Once you found the one you were looking for, you clicked redial. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” Spencer asked through the line.

You smiled softly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just wondering if you had any plans for the day?”

“...we’re working a case,” Spencer said, clearly unsure how to say it politely.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you said, pressing your free palm to your forehead in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I just got off work, I wasn’t even thinking. I’m… I’m gonna hang up now. I’m sorry, Spence.”

“Is something going on?” He asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“No, everything’s fine,” you assured. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Are you bored?” Spencer continued, this time, sounding lighter. 

“I guess you could say so, yes,” you replied, playing into his lightheartedness. 

“Catch a train to Philadelphia,” he instructed. “I’ll text you an address.” 

“Yes Dr. Reid,” you retorted, biting your lip with a smile. 

“I’ll see you soon, Dr. Abner,” he returned. 

Rather than returning to your car, you walked down the sidewalk, looking up the next available train. You’d hitch a ride with your dad your next shift, or take some sort of public transportation. Your car could wait. Your mom could wait. It could all fucking wait, at least for now.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“You didn’t tell me I’d be showing up to a courtroom!” you hissed in a whisper as you walked down the hall. 

Spencer, who was standing beside you, looked over. “Was I supposed to?” 

You laughed at the cluelessness on his face. You couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not, which only made you more amused. 

“Spencer, I’m serious,” you said, shoving his arm. “I’m not properly dressed!”

“You look great!” he countered, which made your heart swell. Still, you frantically buttoned your navy shirt over your grey tank top before shoving the hem into your black skinny jeans. It wasn’t perfect, but it could be worse. 

Spencer fished into his pocket, returning with a name tag reading ‘guest’. “I got you in at the last minute, so you’ll probably have to sit in the back. Once we’re dismissed, I promise I’ll take you somewhere nice.” 

“You could give me a history lesson about boiled peanuts and I’d love it,” you returned. 

Spencer smiled, quickly kissing your cheek. “I’ve got to go.” 

“I’ll see you in there,” you returned.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I hate to state the obvious here,” the defense attorney said, arms extended as he swayed confidently, “but you have no case. My client has no recollection of the events, and even if he did, you have no proof. Your key witness — who was a chronic alcoholic, might I add — died last year.” 

Defense attorneys had a special way of pissing you off. Obviously, they were only doing their job, but sometimes, it seemed like they needed a good punch to the mouth. 

Spencer gave you a brief review of the case before court was in session. As far as you understood, the defendant, Brian Matloff, fell into a coma after falling off of a building during a police chase. He was running from the cops because allegedly, he strangled at least 3 local, dark-haired girls. 2 years passed, he woke up from said coma, but claimed he couldn’t remember a thing. 

You frowned in thought as you sat in the back of the courtroom. As Matloff’s attorney continued his counter argument, you felt memories begin to sharpen. You remembered reading something… somewhere. Every once in awhile, it took some time for you to recall certain things. At the end of the day, though, it was like riding a bike; even if you tried to forget, you’d always remember. 

“Brain-fingerprinting!” You shouted in realization, standing up. 

“Silence in the gallery!” a cop almost immediately shouted back. 

“What did she say?” The judge asked. He looked around, eyes landing on you. “What did you say, miss?” 

Everyone, including Spencer and his entire team, was staring at you. Mostly, they looked confused. Once you met Spencer’s gaze, the corner of his lip lifted, and he gave you a slight, almost invisible nod. 

“I said ‘brain-fingerprinting’, your Honor,” you said, standing a bit taller. 

The judge waved over one of the guards. He whispered something to the man, who turned around and approached the partition. The guard opened the ‘door’ and waved you forward. 

“What is ‘brain-fingerprinting’, Miss Abner?” the judge asked. 

You folded your hands behind your back. “It’s a non-invasive test that monitors brain activity. All the defendant would do is look at photos, and electrodes would monitor his response. It’s safe, harmless, and —”

You stopped mid-sentence. “How do you know my name?” 

“I read your paper about mental health treatment in the justice system,” he responded. “You do some impressive work, Dr. Abner.”

You smiled. “Thank you, your Honor.” 

“Brain-fingerprinting?” The attorney scoffed. “Sounds like pseudoscience on a good day. Why don’t we hook Mr. Matloff up to a polygraph machine, while we’re at it?” 

“Actually, brain-fingerprinting has a 100% success rate, unlike the polygraph,” Spencer interjected. “While difficult, it is possible for a person to manipulate the results of a polygraph test: a person can alter their breathing, for example. However, it is scientifically impossible to fake brain activity.” 

“Also unlike the polygraph, brain-fingerprinting is admissible in court,” you added. “It’s been used by the CSI, the Navy..”

“...and the FBI?” The judge asked.

Spencer nodded.

“You’d like to subject my client to graphic imagery to prompt a reaction, which you will then point to as evidence of guilt?” The attorney argued. “It’s perverse! I object to even —”

“I want to do it,” Matloff interjected. 

You could hear a pin drop. 

“Uh, just a moment, your Honor,” the defense said. He immediately began whispering to Matloff. 

“Your Honor, everyday, I wake into this… nightmare of not knowing who — or what — I am, and if this test can really help me remember, then whatever the consequences, I want to do it.”

“So this is your girl, huh Reid?” a handsome black man, who could be no one other than Derek Morgan, asked. He grinned in a mix of amusement and pride. “You never said she was smarter than you.” 

“Intelligence is both subjective and immeasurable,” you countered, wrapping your arm around Spencer. He slung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close. 

“You seem perfect for each other,” Rossi commented. 

“Y/N, this is Agent Derek Morgan, Agent David Rossi, Agent Jennifer Jareau, and our Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner. You’ve already met Agent Prentiss,” Spencer introduced the team. They all waved and/or smiled as Spencer singled them out. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you all,” you said. “I’ve heard a lot of things. All good, of course.” 

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances,” Hotch responded. 

You nodded. “Oh, and I’m sorry for the… scene,” you said, embarrassed. “Sometimes I speak without really thinking.”

“Are you kidding? This could be a massive breakthrough,” Hotch replied. “You speaking up could have saved this case.” 

“I’m just happy I could help.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Do you believe him?” you asked, a coffee in one hand and Spencer’s hand in the other. The two of you found a quiet park to walk in. It was a good space to clear your heads. “Do you really think he can’t remember anything?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Spencer admitted. “I guess the brain-fingerprinting will tell us.”

“I guess so.” 

The two of you walked in silence for some time. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, looking over.

You brushed back some of your hair as it was blown into your face. “Yeah?”

“Why did you come to see me, today of all days?” he asked. “Were you really that bored, or is something going on?” 

You shrugged in an attempt to brush off his comment. “You always come up to New York to see me,” you said. “I figured it was my turn to visit you.”

“On a day I work? Right after you finished a 24-hour shift?” he pressed. 

Spencer stuck a hand out, gently stopping you from walking any further. “Y/N, if something is bothering you, you can tell me. It’s what I’m here for.” 

You pursed your lips, then looked up at him with a sad smile. “My mother is back in town.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I haven’t seen her since I was 5-years-old.”

His confusion turned into a frown. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m… avoiding her, I guess,” you said, taking a seat on a nearby bench. 

Spencer slowly took a seat next to you. “You don’t want to talk to her?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’ve practiced seeing her in my mind more times than I can count; I have the whole script written, and believe me, there’s a lot I have to say. But after that, then what? It won’t change anything. It won’t turn back time. It won’t change the fact that she left.” 

“I know how you feel,” Spencer assured. “My dad left when I was young. A few months ago was the first time I spoke to him in over a decade.”

“What did you say?” you asked softly. 

“Nothing,” he said with a soft laugh. “At least, nothing important. I don’t know why, either. None of it seemed to matter anymore, I guess.” 

“Why do you think that?”

“I’ve done a lot of living without him, and he’s done a lot of living without me,” Spencer answered. “For a long time, I thought about him, and I’d be angry: angry at him for leaving, angry at myself, because I thought him leaving was my fault. When I actually looked at him, though, I felt nothing. I realized he didn’t need me. More importantly, I realized I didn’t need him.”

Maybe you didn’t need her.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You walked through the front door, throwing your bag onto the floor before shedding your coat. 

“Y/N?” your father called. You heard footsteps in the kitchen.

“Who else?” you called back. When he turned the corner, you saw him wiping his hands. 

You frowned, stepping out of your boots. “You’re cooking? I told you I wouldn’t be back until 8 at the earliest.” 

“We have company,” he responded. 

“Hot date?” you joked. The minute said guest appeared beside him, however, your smile fell. 

“Hello, Y/N,” she said, smiling softly.

“Hello, Amelia,” you replied.

Your mother.

  
_≻───── “When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.” ~Lauren Eden ─────≺_

__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> This story is part of the[LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),   
> which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
>  **
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> **  
> **This Author replies to comments.** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
>   
>   
> **
> 
>   
> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> until next time... xx


	5. Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been a month since I updated??? I'd be shocked if anyone is even reading this, haha.
> 
> If you are, happy quarantine!!! By staying home, you are saving lives, so stay home if you can :) While we wait for the world to stop ending, I hope you enjoy this chapter <3
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zv3gcfOEMM)

“I’m sure you got my message…” she said. “I was hoping we could talk.” 

“You haven’t left me much of a choice, now have you?” You retorted.

She laughed nervously, then looked at your father. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I shouldn’t be here.” 

“Oh, we _know_ you shouldn’t be here: you made that decision a long time ago,” you stated bluntly. “But you know what? We’ll have to get this over with eventually. Why not now?” 

“...I’ll make some coffee,” your father said, dismissing himself from the room.

“Thank you, Eli,” Amy said softly. She then looked to you. “Is it alright if I sit down?” 

“Make yourself at home,” you said, a fake sweetness in your voice. 

While Amy sat in an armchair, you leaned one shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed. 

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown up,” she stated breathlessly, looking you up and down. 

“You know, people always say I look like my dad,” you replied. “I personally don’t see it. I think they say it because telling someone they look like the parent that abandoned them is insensitive.” 

“Graduating medical school at 12? Working as a doctor for 6 years by your 18th birthday? It’s unbelievable,” she continued like she didn’t hear a word you said. 

“What are you here for, Amy?” you said after a silent beat. “Why come back? What changed?” 

She sighed in resignation, looking down at her folded hands. “I found someone. The wedding is next year.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. A part of you always assumed Amy would find someone else: she was a conventionally attractive woman living in California with a successful career as a lawyer. Men were probably fighting over her. To actually hear it, though — to hear her say she’s moved on, that she’s marrying a man that isn’t your father — was something else entirely.

“Congratulations,” you muttered, brushing past her as you made a beeline towards the staircase.

“Y/N…” she said desperately.

“What do you want me to say?” You asked, turning on your heel. You stood on the first step, but even those few extra inches of height on her gave you some confidence. “Do you want my blessing? You want me to say I’m happy for you? I don’t _care_ , Amy. I stopped caring a long time ago.” 

“I want…” She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “...I want a relationship with you. Darren, my fiance, has two daughters. Bianca, the older one, is your age. Getting to know her made me want to get to know you.”

“Getting to know your boyfriend’s daughter made you want a relationship with your own,” you said, laughing at the irony. 

“Y/N, I made a mistake. I made a terrible, horrible, mistake, I know. But -”

“No,” you cut her off. You shook your head. “You didn’t just ‘make a mistake’. You made a mistake when you walked out, but for every day after that, you fucked up. Every day for 12 years, you left a little girl wondering when her mommy would be home. You didn’t _make_ a mistake — you _are_ a mistake! You’re a walking, breathing mistake!”

You didn’t realize how close you were to Amy until you pushed her backwards. 

“Y/N,” your father stated, rushing forward to come between the two of you. He set a hand on your shoulder, but he didn’t push you.

“You’re not my mother,” you continued, angry tears streaming down your face. You noticed she was crying too, which only pissed you off more. “You’re the woman who gave birth to me. My father is my parent. And maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he stuck around. At least he fucking stayed!” 

You lunged at Amy again, but this time, your dad stopped you. You slammed into his chest, wrapping your arms around him. He wrapped one around you while using the other to point to the door. 

“You need to leave,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a point to debate or argue. And, unsurprisingly, she listened.

Amy was always good at taking the easy way out. 

The minute you heard the door close, you collapsed. Sobs wracked your body, and your legs gave out under your own weight. Your father caught you, lowering you to the floor as he hugged you tightly. 

“I hate her,” you cried, face buried in his neck. “I fucking hate her.” 

“I know,” he whispered, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“My mother came to my house yesterday.”

You and Spencer were on the roof of some building in Virginia. It was a tourist attraction, the kind with countless viewfinders that could display the entire city. However, it was mid-October in New England, which meant it was cold. The two of you were alone, sipping coffee that would ordinarily be too hot, but was now the only source of warmth besides the person sitting next to you. It was comforting, though; the weather matched your emotions. The sky was full of grey clouds, light enough to know it wouldn’t rain but dark enough to cover the Sun. The occasional pre-winter breeze blew back your hair and activated your skin. 

Spencer raised his eyebrows. “What did you say?”

After a moment, you snorted. “I told her she was a mistake.” 

Spencer laughed lightly. “I mean, you’re not wrong.” 

You began to chuckle as well, leaning into him. Less than 24 hours ago, you had reached your breaking point. You hit what felt like the lowest point in your life. Yet somehow, sitting outside in the freezing cold, you were able to laugh it all away. He did that. No one else could. 

Spencer wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. Even through his thick jacket, you could feel his body heat. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked gently. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Yesterday, I hated her. I wanted her to get a car accident on her way to the hotel, or at least, I wanted her to get on a plane and never come back.”

“And today?” 

“I just… don’t care,” you said. “And not in an ‘I wish you dead’ way. I just don’t even want to waste time thinking about her. I have better things to do, you know?” 

“I know,” he assured, “and you do. What you feel is valid, no matter if other people understand or not.” 

“Do you?” you asked, sitting up slightly to look at him. “Understand, I mean.” 

“I think so,” Spencer returned. “Like I said, I’ve done a lot of living without my father. I don’t feel like I need a relationship with him. I guess that means I don’t really care.”

“That makes you a horrible person,” you joked. 

The two of you laughed. 

“Hey, on a lighter note, Jax and Idol want me to go to homecoming,” you said. “I’ll have to find a way out of it.” 

“You should go,” Spencer encouraged.

You frowned. “Really?” 

“Why not? I never got to: no girl wanted to take the 12-year old to their Senior Prom. Something tells me you had a similar experience.” 

“I did,” you said. You paused in consideration. “Come with me.”

He laughed in surprise. “What?”

“Be my date,” you repeated. “They said you could come, if you want. I only want to go if you’ll be there.”

He smiled, gently kissing you. “Then I will be.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Hey, are you okay?”

You frowned, taking a sip of your tea. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You and Ben were walking to the cafeteria. The ER slowed down, so you decided to take a lunch break before Cabello paged you for the tenth time. Apparently things weren’t moving in Pediatrics either, because you met him on the 5th floor when you were dropping off some labs. The two of you decided to take the stairs.

Ben sighed, stopping when the two of you reached the platform. “I heard about your mom being back.” 

“How?” 

“I overheard your father tell Daniels when he was on the floor for a consult.”

“Of course,” you shook your head. Eli and Dr. Daniels were in the same class when they went to med school. Apparently, that meant their bond was unbreakable, because they always seemed to tell each other things they told no one else. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“That’s sweet, but I’m okay,” you assured. “I talked to Spencer about it.” 

“Oh. He’s treating you well, isn’t he?” Ben asked.

You nodded with a smile. “Yeah, he is.” 

“Good. Otherwise, I’d have to kill him.”

You laughed, bumping his shoulder. 

The two of you continued walking, reaching a second platform. To your right was a door that opened to the 4th floor. 

“Hey, I’ll catch up,” you told Ben. “I gotta grab something from my locker.”

He nodded. “See you down there.” 

You found your way to the Resident’s locker room. It was only a little nicer than a gym locker room, but it was better than nothing. At least you managed to claim one of the lockers on the end. 

You lifted the latch, and of course, it opened. You only reset the combination lock at the end of the day — you didn’t keep anything worth stealing inside. Unlike every other time you opened your locker, something fell out. 

You looked down to see a few polaroid pictures scattered onto the floor. You frowned, looking over your shoulder as you picked them up. A part of you thought Spencer might appear, telling you they were a joke or an early anniversary present. 

You gathered the photos and sat down on the bench behind you. The first one was you walking down the hallway, looking at someone’s chart. You smiled. He must have captured it on a day he brought you lunch. 

You moved that photo to the back, examining the next one. You recognized it immediately: it was of you and him on the rooftop, the one you sat on the day before. The more you thought about it, though, the more confused you got. 

The picture appeared to be taken from across the street at a downward angle, making it pretty much impossible that Spencer took it on his own free will. Then again, he might have asked a friend to do it. He seemed to be pretty alright at being romantic. 

You moved the rooftop photo to the back, and your heart fell into the depths of your stomach. 

The third photo was of you and Spencer kissing. However, it wasn’t just the two of you kissing — it was of you and him in the hospital parking lot. It looked like someone took it from behind a bush or vehicle. 

Without thinking, you threw the photos into your locker and slammed it shut, rushing out of the room. You threw another look over your shoulder, but this time, it was out of fear.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

_‘You blew me off. Is everything okay?’_

Ben was equally as busy as you, so it took him a few days for him to text you. Unfortunately, by the time he finally did, it was the night of the homecoming dance. 

Jax and Spencer spent the morning putting their outfits together, and for whatever reason, both him and Idol forbid you from seeing Spencer until it was time to dance. You joked about it, making a remark that it wasn’t your wedding day. You didn’t push it, though. You knew they were living vicariously, and because they were your friends, you let it happen. Besides, you had to admit, the element of surprise was kind of… sexy. 

“Jax has been sending me pictures all day,” Idol said as she applied fake eyelashes. It was a good day if you put on mascara, so when it came to your makeup, she was going all out. You knew you’d look amazing by the end of it; she really had a talent. “The two of you are going to be so hot. Everyone will be jealous.” 

You scoffed. “No one knows who we are.”

“They will when the night is over,” she teased. 

You didn’t respond. 

“Is something wrong?” Idol asked. 

“No, I’m okay,” you said quickly. “...There was just this… thing at work a few days ago. I don’t know, it weirded me out.”

But really, were you okay? You’ve been busy with work, and whenever you weren’t with Spencer, you were either waiting for him or waiting on a train. You didn’t have time to consider anything, let alone how you felt. 

You didn’t know what the pictures meant. And frankly, you didn’t want to think about them. All you wanted was a night, just one night, where you could be a person outside of your career. 

“Can’t you get work out of your head for one second?” Idol said. Her tone was light, but you knew she was serious. The three of you have had that conversation more than a few times. “This is like, your only night to be a normal teenager.”

“That’s not true,” you laughed. “I’m a normal teen when I’m not at work.”

“Are you?” She challenged with raised brows. “I mean, we love you, but… c’mon, Y/N.”

You frowned, waiting for her to continue. 

Idol sighed. “You’re an amazing friend and an awesome person. You’re also a great doctor. You’re a teenager, and you’re a doctor. That’s not normal — it’s incredible. It’s nearly impossible. You’re amazingly impossible.”

“...And?” 

“...And,” Idol confirmed with a chuckle, “sometimes Jax and I have a hard time keeping up. I mean, you spend the day saving lives. We spend ours stuck in a classroom. You know exactly what you want to do with your life, and you’re doing it. We just… can’t compete.” 

Idol brushed highlighter onto your cheekbone. You gently grabbed her wrist, lowering it. 

“Do I make it a competition?” 

You genuinely didn’t know. You always knew you had a hard time relating to Jax and Idol — they lived a different life, a normal life, that you never could. Still, they were your friends, so you told them everything. Whenever you were proud, or excited, or pissed off, they were the first people you told. You never thought it came off as bragging. 

“No,” Idol assured softly, taking your hand. “We do. Which is stupid, and dumb, and childish. But we’re stupid, and dumb, and childish.”

“No you aren’t,” you said. “You guys aren’t stupid or childish. Yes, I’m a doctor, but that doesn’t make me better than either of you. You’re both talented, and funny, and genuinely good people who are smart in their own ways. Traditional intelligence isn’t everything.” 

“You better not start crying: it would fuck up all of my hard work.”

You laughed.

Just as you expected, Idol did an amazing job. Your eyebrows were full but not overdrawn, your face contoured but not sunken in. She didn’t go too heavy on the eyeshadow, either, using only a pop of icy blue in the corners to complement your navy dress. Idol managed to accentuate your features without completely drowning them out. You hoped Spencer would like it. 

“If you need anything, call Idol,” you instructed your father as the two of you put on your coats. “I’m leaving my phone here.”

“Let me guess: if it’s the hospital, don’t bother?” He asked with a chuckle. 

“Tell them I’m dead for the evening,” you agreed. 

“Have fun, you two.”

Before you followed Idol out the door, you pulled your dad into a hug. 

“What’s this for?” he asked in surprise, but returned the gesture nonetheless.

“For everything,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

By the time you and Idol got to the school, Spencer and Jax were already there. They were easy to find in a crowd — they were standing awkwardly by the bleachers, clearly waiting for the two of you to arrive. When you actually got a good look at Spencer, though, it felt like the breath was knocked out of you. 

Even in the dim lighting, you could tell that Jax managed to almost perfectly match the blue shade of Spencer’s suit to your dress. You were wearing 2-inch wedges, so he wasn’t towering over you anymore, but he was still a good 6 inches above you. 

“I didn’t know your hair is naturally curly,” you said.

Spencer smiled. 

He looked… good. So good. Like, too good for you good. He got a haircut, but it wasn’t slicked back like he normally had it. It was shorter on the sides, and the curls on top looked soft, probably professionally styled. Not to mention, he hadn’t shaved in days, so his jawline was speckled with stubble. You could only imagine what that feels like on your face, between your legs, brushing against your…

 _‘See, Idol?’_ you thought. _‘I can be a normal teenager.’_

“You look amazing,” Spencer complimented.

“So do you,” you returned with a grin.

He offered you a hand, which you gratefully accepted.

As the night went on, the party music turned into slow songs. You were still sweating from all the moving the four of you were doing before, but nevertheless, Spencer pulled you into the crowd to dance. 

“You look so beautiful tonight,” Spencer said in a hushed voice. Your foreheads were touching, fingers laced and arms extended as you danced. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased.

The song continued, so of course, you continued dancing. Spencer eventually wrapped both arms around your waist, pulling your body towards him until there was nothing but air between the two of you. You breathed his oxygen, he breathed yours, and for the time being, it was the only air in the room.

You leaned up and kissed him, stares and whispers be damned. People had been staring all night — at least now, they finally had something to look at. 

When you finally pulled away, you were breathless. But it wasn’t because of the kiss.

Your eyes darted around the room. Your heart rate increased with every passing second. 

What if he was here? What if he was here, taking pictures, and you had no idea? What if, when you were trying to leave, he tried to stop you? What if he slipped something in your drink? What if he has a gun?

The room was spinning. You started to lose your footing.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked. He grabbed your arms. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you laughed weakly in an attempt to brush off his concern. “I just need to get some air.” 

You managed to stumble through the crowd and out the front door. You had a feeling Spencer was right on your heels, but you couldn’t even hear him. Your ears were ringing. Your mouth was dry. It felt like your lungs were closing. 

“Hey, deep breaths,” Spencer instructed. 

He took your arm, gently lowering you on the front steps of the school. Each breath in was shaky, but they weren’t gasps. Eventually, with Spencer’s help, you managed to completely level your breathing. 

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Spencer asked gently. 

You nervously rubbed your hands on your legs. It was cold outside, but that wasn’t the reason why. It was soothing, being able to control something, even if it was something so menial. 

You looked up, clearing your throat. 

“I have something to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> This story is part of the[LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),   
> which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
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> **This Author replies to comments.** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
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> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> I thank Grey's Anatomy for finally inspiring me to write this fucking chapter.
> 
> Until next time... xx


	6. Steady Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming night isn't everything it's cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo... this was a ride. (a trigger warning is in the end notes — nothing happens in this chapter that wouldn't happen on the show, but just in case. TRIGGER WARNINGS ARE SPOILERS!)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me ya'll! I hope you enjoy this chapter <3
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rUWjMi4XFo)

“Has he given you anything else?”

You looked up. You were so tired and numb that you couldn’t even frown. “What do you mean?” 

After telling him about the photos, the first thing Spencer did was take you to the hospital so you could retrieve the photos, then immediately drove to Quantico. You now sat in an FBI conference room, surrounded by Spencer’s teammates. 

This isn’t how you wanted to spend Homecoming night. 

“Pictures can mean a lot of things. Especially these pictures,” Derek explained. “If he’s left you other items, it could help us determine his motive.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think he’s given me anything else.”

“You haven’t received any strange packages, letters, phone calls or voicemails..?” Rossi asked. 

You shook your head, this time more sure of yourself. “Nothing like that. ...What do you mean, ‘especially these’?”

“Normally, stalkers send pictures of _only_ the person they’re stalking,” Spencer explained softly, having yet to leave your side. “For example, if he had pictures of you changing, he’d send them to scare you. But in this case…”

“...he might not be trying to scare me?” you said, confused.

“He might simply be making himself known,” Emily chimed in. “If his intentions are romantic, he might be trying to tell you that he knows about your relationship.”

“Wouldn’t he take that as a threat?” you asked.

Emily pursed her lips. “...Yes.”

“It could be the opposite, though,” JJ countered. “It could be someone after Spencer, warning Y/N to literally get out of the picture.” 

“But it could be a complete coincidence Spencer is even in the photos,” Emily thought aloud. 

“If you’re trying to freak me out, it’s working,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It sounds like you have no idea who this guy is.” 

“We need time to look into it,” Spencer said. 

He set a gentle hand over yours. You turned your hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. It felt good, like something was grounding you to reality before your imagination could run wild. 

“And in the meantime, we need to gather as much information as possible,” Hotch piped up. 

“Like…?” you prompted. 

“Anything out of the ordinary you’ve noticed recently,” Derek said, “like weird conversations with new friends, or if the same cab driver always manages to pick you up. He’s good at keeping a conversation going, but occasionally, he accidentally reveals his obsession, normally through a passing remark. He might compliment you semi-regularly, or even become overprotective when evoked.”

“I… I’d have to think about that,” you said. “No one comes to mind.” 

“Consider the opposite as well,” Emily reminded. “Has anyone been particularly aggressive towards you? Making snide remarks, either about your physical appearance or relationship?” 

You shook your head again, frowning. “No… I…”

Your eyebrows relaxed, but it wasn’t in relief.

“What?” Spencer encouraged. “What is it, Y/N?” 

“I work in a New York City ER,” you stated. “Aggressive patients aren’t exactly out of my ordinary.”

No one even breathed; they waited for you to continue. 

“A few weeks ago, I had this patient at 2 in the morning. He got into a bar fight, so he came to the ER. He was drunk, of course, but he was still pretty lucid. He was flirting with and touching me the entire time.” 

“And by the end of your interaction, you rejected him?” Derek asked.

“What was I supposed to do?” You defended.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” JJ promised. “It’s an impossible situation. You had no clue he might respond in this way.” 

“So it could be him?” you asked the room. You then looked at Spencer. “Is it him?” 

“He’s the best lead so far,” Spencer responded. 

“We’ll need a specific date and a description of the man,” Hotch said. “In the meantime, either a police officer or an FBI agent will be stationed outside of your house or the hospital. They should be your only method of transportation.” 

“So… what do I do?” you asked. “What can I do to help?” 

“You live your life like normal,” Rossi said. “If you make a severe change to your routine, it might cause him to seek out your attention.” 

“And what do I do if that happens?” 

You looked around the room. Everyone was staring at Spencer, who pursed his lips. If they thought it would sound better coming from him, odds are, it wasn’t something you wanted to hear. 

“You should comply,” Spencer said meekly. “He’d interpret your refusal as a personal rejection, which could be fatal to you and anyone around you.” 

“...What a charming guy,” you joked.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Y/N?” Idol asked, snapping you out of your daze. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured. You sat up straighter in your chair, which was in front of your desk. Jax and Idol sat on your bed, sharing an open textbook while they did homework.

“What’s Boyle’s Law again?” Jax asked, most likely for the second time.

“The pressure of a given mass of an ideal gas is inversely proportional to its volume at a constant temperature,” you replied with ease.

“Cool. What’s Gay-Lussac's law?”

“the ratio of the initial pressure and temperature is equal to the ratio of the final pressure and temperature for a gas of a fixed mass kept at a constant volume,” you said.

The two looked at each other.

“...And how do they relate to each other?” Idol asked with a smile. 

You sighed, reaching over. “Just give me your paper.”  
With a look of disbelief from both Idol and Jax, she handed it to you. 

“What happened to never doing our assignments for us?” Jax asked. “You know, ‘not taking the easy way out’, ‘preserving our academic integrity’?”

“That was before I had a stalker who I can’t stop thinking about no matter what I do,” you muttered, already writing down an example on a page of fresh loose-leaf. “At least this is somewhat distracting.” 

“Y/N…” Idol said, sighing sympathetically. “You’re gonna be fine. He’s not going to hurt you.” 

“Yeah, seriously,” Jax agreed. “Your badass FBI boyfriend is going to find that sicko and put him away for the rest of his life. You have nothing to worry about.” 

“I’m not worried about that,” you replied briefly, engrossed in their homework assignment. “I know he’ll be caught.”

“...Then what’s bugging you?” Idol asked. “And don’t say ‘you’re fine’, because we can see through that shit.”

You chuckled briefly. They really knew you, inside and out. 

“I’m not afraid of the weirdo that took pictures of me,” you said, “I’m… angry at him. Which probably doesn’t make any sense, but… I’m angry he has so much control over my life, you know? It felt like, for a moment, I was free of that: free of my pushy boss, my absent mother, but then all of a sudden, someone takes that away from me.”

“Your mom?” Jax frowned. “What changed with your mom? ...Did she talk to you?” 

You didn’t tell them.

It’s not like you were trying not to — it just genuinely slipped your mind. You were so fired up from your argument with her that you spent most of the next day sleeping, and the little daylight you had left, you spent with Spencer. At that point, it was done and over with. There would have been no point in telling them. And frankly, you wouldn’t have wanted to. All it would do is make you have to think about it, which was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“...She flew out here a few weeks ago.”

Idol slammed her textbook shut. “A few weeks?! And you didn’t think to bring it up once?!”

“Are you okay?” Jax asked. “I mean… how did it go?”

“Terribly,” you admitted, “but I expected nothing less. I didn’t bring it up because it doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Idol repeated in disbelief. “Y/N, you haven’t seen her since you were 5-years-old. How does that not matter?!”

“Because it ended the same,” you shrugged, continuing to write a chemistry paper you had no busy writing. “We both cried, and she left. Sometimes, no matter how many times you re-write a story, it has the same ending. My mother is one of those stories.” 

“Still,” Idol argued. “You’re seriously gonna tell me that her just showing up a decade later didn’t piss you off?” 

“It did,” You confirmed, “but I’m okay. I told her everything I felt, like I planned, and she left, like I knew she would. I screamed, I cried, and I talked to Spencer about it. I’m ready to move on with my life.” 

They didn’t say anything. 

After a few silent minutes, you handed Idol back her worksheet and the paper you wrote. 

They both looked it over, slowly frowning. 

“This isn’t a paper…” Jax said with confusion.

“It’s an example of each law in action,” you explained. “Compare, contrast, and write your papers.” 

“There’s our girl,” Idol joked. 

There was a faint knock on the door. Without waiting for your answer, your dad cracked open the door just enough to peek his head in. 

“Idol, Jax, your ride is here.” 

A lovely, convenient benefit to having a stalker? Your friends who lived down the street needed someone to pick them up, just to make sure them hanging out with you didn’t piss him off enough to hurt them. 

They quickly packed their school supplies into their bags, wishing both of you a goodnight. 

Your dad stood in your doorway, lingering, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite spit it out. 

“Why did you let her leave?” you asked, meeting his gaze. “Why didn’t you fight for her, try to make her stay?” 

“You deserved a mother,” your dad said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you.”

“No, that’s not... “ you chuckled dryly, shaking your head. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t hold her actions against you. Besides, I know you did the best you could.”

“...Then what are you asking?”

You paused. 

“Did you not love her?” you asked. “Did she not love you?... Did she stop loving me?” 

Your dad sighed as he entered your room. He took a seat on your bed, running a hand down his face. “I have been in love with your mother since the day we met; I haven’t stopped loving her, and in some ways, I never will.” 

“Then what happened?” you asked. “I mean, I was an objectively easy child to raise. Was I really so terrible?”

“Amy leaving had nothing to do with you,” your dad said softly. “She loved you then, and she loves you now. It’s just… somewhere along the way, she stopped loving me. I guess it got the point she couldn’t even look at me anymore, let alone live with me.”

“Do you think if I never came along, the two of you would still be married?” 

He considered this. Eventually, Eli smiled softly. 

“That’s not something I even want to think about,” he replied. “I lost Amy, but I survived. But I wouldn’t be able to live without you, Y/N. I don’t want to live in a world you aren’t in.” 

You felt yourself tear up. You stood up, offering him a hug. Your father of course accepted. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he promised, cradling the back of your neck. “They’re gonna catch that bastard, and he isn’t gonna lay a finger on you.”

You pulled him tighter.

Not all stories have the same ending.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Honestly, if I could think of anything else, I’d tell you.”

Emily glanced at JJ. 

“We know,” JJ said, “and we appreciate you trying. We know this hasn’t been easy.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered, taking a sip of your coffee.

JJ and Emily wanted to finalize a few of your statements and check in to make sure you were okay and/or to see if you remembered something. 

“We think we found him,” JJ blurted out. She laughed nervously at herself. “I mean, we think we identified your inappropriate ER patient. Which I really shouldn’t be telling you, but… You’re just so young. You don’t deserve this.”

“It’s so easy to forget you’re only 18,” Emily agreed. “You’re handling everything with grace.” 

“It doesn’t always feel that way, but thanks,” you replied with a smile. “So, um… do you have a picture of him?”

Emily opened one of her many yellow files. After flipping through a few papers, she pulled one out and placed it in front of you.

“Colin Sherer,” she said as you looked it over. “He’s been arrested for vandalism, assault in the 2nd degree, and… public urination.” 

You couldn’t take your eyes off his mugshot. Something about his square, clenched jaw line, messy stubble, and the dead look in his eye would haunt you for the rest of your life. 

“Could it be him?” you asked. “I mean, based on cases you’ve had before… is it logical?” 

They shared a look. 

“We’ve arrested serial killers with no other criminal records,” JJ shrugged. “One thing this job teaches you is that anyone is capable of anything.” 

“I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying as hell,” you laughed. 

The girls looked at each other, and in unison, answered, “both.”

You smiled, sipping more of your coffee. “We’re here to see if he is, right?”

“Basically,” Emily said. “We have an officer monitoring Sherer as we speak. If he comes here, we’ll know.”

“And… if he’s someone else? Someone that isn’t Sherer?” You asked.

“We have access to all of today’s security footage,” JJ said, glancing at a security camera in the corner of the room. 

“So what happens if he doesn’t come at all?” 

“We’re hoping the disruption in your routine is enough to stir him out of hiding,” Emily answered, “which means from now on, you shouldn’t be alone for too long, especially in public.”

“We’ve already got in contact with your boss, and he says he’s able to adapt until further notice,” JJ said. “Just make sure you’re using the buddy system whenever you’re not at home.” 

“The only other place I go is the hospital,” you replied, partially wishing it was a joke. 

JJ smiled, then looked past you. “You know… your stalker isn’t the only one who wants to see you here.”

You frowned, turning around in your seat. 

Across the room, in the second to last booth next to the windows, sat Spencer. He had a book out on the table, open and reading it. Apparently, he sensed you were staring, because he glanced up to meet your gaze. A warm smile crossed his face, which you returned. 

You haven’t properly spoken to him since Homecoming night, and it was killing you. Both you and him decided it would be safer, but that didn’t mean it didn’t suck. Because it did. It sucked.

You were still able to text and call him, but it wasn’t the same. You missed him bringing you lunch, or finding an empty roof to waste an evening together on. You missed his touch, his warmth… his presence. You’d give anything just to be around him. 

You hated that Spencer is another thing a stranger stole from you. 

“I miss him,” you said quietly, picking at the napkin in front of you once you turned around. 

“He misses you too,” JJ assured softly. “You make him happy; happier than I’ve ever seen him.” 

“Oh my god, Y/N?!”

Upon hearing your name, you looked up. You smiled with relief, standing up. 

“Ben,” you said, extending your arms to greet him with a hug. He was holding a disposable coffee cup, so it was brief and friendly. “What are you going here?”

“I just got off an 18-hour shift; I thought I’d come get some of the best coffee in the city,” he said. “What about you? I haven’t seen you in awhile. Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you lied. “I’ve just been busy. I work tomorrow, though. You want to catch up then? We can have lunch together.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Ben teased, taking a drink from his cup.

You chuckled. “Believe me, I’m doing you a favor. Something tells me you didn’t get much sleep in the last 18 hours.” 

“I think I’ve gotten a total of 4 hours in the past 2 days,” Ben confirmed. He cast a glance to JJ and Emily, who smiled and waved. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you said, smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We’ll catch up.”

“See you then,” Ben said. He brushed past you, looking back one final time before waving goodbye and leaving the cafe.

That’s something you loved about Ben: he didn’t pry. 

“That was Ben, one of my coworkers,” you said as you sat back down. “I took him here once after we worked a long shift together, and ever since, it’s the only place he buys coffee, besides at the hospital. He swears it’s the best in New York State.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” JJ observed. “It’s good to have people like that in your life.”

Maybe not _everything_ was so bad.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“God, this place is a maze!” Jax said as you, him, and Idol climbed the hospital staircase. 

“Why don’t you just take the elevator?” Idol panted.

You were half a flight ahead of them, and they made no effort to catch up. 

“It gives me something else to focus on,” you replied, waiting on a platform for them to catch up. “Sometimes, when I’m with patients, I get so in my own head. Exhausting myself on a staircase means I can’t think about anything else for the meantime.” 

“You know that… kind of makes you a drug addict, right?” Idol said. “You’re addicted to your own endorphins.”

“Doing crack sounds easier,” Jax said, leaning over as he caught his breath. 

“And like more fun,” Idol remarked. 

You rolled your eyes with a smile before continuing to make your way upwards. You waited by the door opening to the fourth floor as they caught up.

“Thanks for being here, you guys,” you said. “I was going to have lunch with Ben, but he isn’t returning my calls. And you know, the whole buddy system thing…”

“He’s probably still sleeping,” Idol remarked, walking in after you opened the door. “I wish I was.” 

You and Jax laughed at her joke. 

“Hey, it’s no problem,” he assured, patting your shoulder. “Any excuse to bug the hell out of you.” 

You shoved his arm off of you as you chuckled. 

Upon entering the fourth floor, you realized Idol was already in the resident’s lounge. She liked the set of armchairs in the far corner. 

Your phone rang in your pocket. You pulled it out, expecting to see that Ben was returning your calls. It wasn’t Ben, though — it was Cabello. Jax looked at you with a frown. As you answered the phone, you raised your index finger, silently telling him you would be a minute. He shrugged and entered the lounge. 

“Dr. Cabello?” you asked. “Do you need me back on the floor?”

'Run,' he said. 'Get out.'

You lost feeling in your arms and legs. 

“What?” you asked dumbly. “What do you mean?” 

'Hide,' Cabello said, 'you need to hide or run, Y/N.'

His voice was raspy, like he was struggling to breathe. He began to cough, which sounded more like a wet spudder. You heard Cabello take another shaky breath in before the line went silent.

 _“Attention everyone: this is a Code Silver Alert,”_ the overhead speakers announced. _“This is not a drill. The hospital is in Code Silver.”_

Your pager beeped, and you didn’t have to look at it to know it was telling you the same thing. But… What the hell did it mean? Code Blue: cardiac arrest. Code Black: bomb threat. But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember what Code Silver meant. All you knew was that it wasn’t good.

Without thinking, you dropped your phone and scrambled into the lounge. 

“Idol, Jax, we need to go, now,” you rushed out before you were fully in the room. 

The two stood still as a statue. Jax’s posture was unusually straight, and Idol held his arm for dear life as she pressed her cheek against his back.

“Actually, Y/N, you need to go,” Jax said. His voice sounded calm, but there was an undeniable tinge of unease. 

“She’s not going anywhere,” a familiar voice argued. 

You peered around Jax to see Ben standing opposite of him. Only, unlike Jax, his arm was extended, and he was aiming a pistol right at Jax’s head. 

Code Silver: active shooter.

  
_≻ ───── “I am a woman of many seasons. I burn. I bloom. I strike. I turn to ice; sometimes, I melt away." -L.E. Bowman ─────≺_

__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Gun Violence.
> 
> **  
> This story is part of the[LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),   
> which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
> **
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
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>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> **  
>  **This Author replies to comments.** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
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>    
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> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> I wish I understood chemistry like Y/N :(
> 
> Sorry for the cliff-hanger, but I couldn't help myself lol.
> 
> Until next time... xx


	7. High Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking through the cliffhanger! i hope this was worth the wait :)
> 
>  _italics_ = flashbacks
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3bbgXwlhiY)

The longer you work around death, the closer it feels. Not necessarily in an ‘we’re all doomed’ way, but rather, close to your soul. It’s a… feeling. You start to wake up with a feeling in your gut. You talk to a patient, and you know their thanks will be the last words you hear from them. Some think of it as a Sixth Sense, some believe it’s a curse. Regardless, it lingers like a shadow, and no matter how bright the sun shines, it doesn’t disappear. It’s inescapable. But you don’t have to let it haunt you. 

Rather than letting death follow you around, you’ve learned to walk beside it. You hold it’s hand. You treat it like a friend. You’ve found it easier to work alongside death rather than against it. Maybe that’s morbid. Maybe that’s not how it’s supposed to be done. But really, if you treated it any differently, you know that one day, the shadow will consume you. 

Death didn’t wake up beside you that morning. It didn’t pick up the phone, it didn’t make Jax and Idol walk into the lounge, and it definitely didn’t put a gun in Ben’s hand. Death is working somewhere else in Highland General; it must have picked up a shift on a different floor. 

You’re going to do everything you can to stop it from catching up to you.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

_  
“Y/N!”_

_You turned around with a frown._

_You made it through your first day as a 3rd-year resident, and you really weren’t in the mood for harassment. Whenever a fresh batch of Residents or interns started their year at Highland, they didn’t leave you alone for the first few weeks. You weren’t exactly thrilled to have the spotlight on you, but you tried to teach them clinical or practical skills rather than airing out your personal history. By the time they realized they were one of you, just younger, they left you alone._

_When you turned around, though, you didn’t see a new doctor looking to pick your brain. Rather, you saw someone you recognized, yet hadn’t seen for years._

_“Ben?!” you returned, a happy but confused smile on your face. “What are you doing here?”_

_You hadn’t seen him since you both graduated. Last you heard, he was a Surgical Resident at St. Mary’s._

_“I switched specialties,” he answered. “You’re looking at the newest Pediatric Surgical Resident of Highland General Hospital.”_

_“From Cardio to Peds,” you observed. “Interesting choice.”_

_“Yeah, that’s what my Senior Resident said,” Ben chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Former Senior Resident.”_

_The two of you stood in silence._

_“Well, are you done with your shift?” You asked._

_“Yeah,” he nodded, “I punched out like, 5 minutes ago. I just haven’t changed yet.”_

_“Well, I was planning to get some coffee,” you responded. “Want to come?”_

_He smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”  
_

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Ben, what are you doing?” you asked with a shaky voice.

“I can’t believe you’re friends with these kids,” Ben said. His tone was casual, like he wasn’t holding a gun on someone. “They’re so… naive. How can you possibly relate to them?” 

“Naive?” Jax scoffed. “Like believing an 18-year-old prodigy is in love with an almost 30 below-average doctor?” 

Ben’s expression went stone cold. He moved his thumb to click down the hammer. Though she couldn’t see anything, Idol let out a sob at the sound. 

“Okay, everyone just take a breath,” you pleaded. “Let’s not do anything stupid.” 

“Y/N, you and I are leaving,” Ben stated he continued to stare down Jax. 

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Jax growled. 

“You really want to argue with me, pretty boy?” Ben retorted, face contorting to a sneer. He looked like an animal ready to attack. 

Your blood evaporated when Ben rushed forward, pressing the barrel between Jax’s eyes. 

The air was filled with screams. Ben and Jax screaming at each other. Idol screaming in anguish as she held onto Jax’s waist for dear life. You couldn’t hear any of it, though. All you could hear was a deafening ringing and the sound of your own breathing. 

You were supposed to run. You were supposed to bolt down the hallway and hope Ben doesn’t catch up. Maybe you should go for the staircase; it’d be nearly impossible for him to catch you while you’re both running down stairs, right? 

But… where does that leave Jax and Idol? What would happen to them? Would he leave them behind? Would he try to catch you, then return to them and use them as leverage? What if he shoots them before going after you? There were so many ‘what if’s, and all of them included Death nipping at someone’s heels.

The ringing stopped. 

Spencer’s voice flooded your ears.

_‘Comply. He’d interpret your refusal as a personal rejection, which could be fatal to you and anyone around you.’_

“Stop!” You shouted, so loud that your voice cracked. “Everyone stop!” 

The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. 

You took in a deep breath with closed eyes. 

“I’ll go with you,” you said quietly, “but only if you lower the gun and step back. No one gets hurt, okay?” 

“Y/N, you can’t leave,” Idol sobbed. “You can’t go with him!” 

You looked over, and through tears, you managed to smile. “I’ll be okay,” you promised. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Ben, now back to where he was originally standing, held his hands in the air. 

“Can we go now?” He asked, clearly fed up. 

In the blink of an eye, Jax shoved Idol away and lunged at Ben. 

Yours and Idol’s screams of protests were cut off by the sound of a gunshot.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

One thing Spencer learned within weeks of working at the BAU? It’s never quiet. 

When his team is off of rotation, it simply means another team takes their place. Most BAU work is done behind the scenes, from everyday paperwork to drafting profiles to analyzing crime scenes, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the legal aspects. 

So, while Spencer’s team has the day off, another agent sits at his desk. 

“Hi,” Spencer waved awkwardly at Damien, his ‘deskmate’. Because they worked opposite shifts, they didn’t get much time to talk. All they really knew about each other was that they were both profilers. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” Damien greeted professionally. “Here for A Shift’s meeting?” 

Spencer’s pleasant smile turned into a frown of confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Damien looked equally confused. “Your team is in the conference room… did they not call you?” 

He shook his head. “I came here for files I forgot…”

“Oh, well… have at it,” Damien said, rolling his chair back so Spencer could get what he needed. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Spencer mumbled. 

Rather than retrieving the files, however, he began to climb the stairs that overlooked the bullpen. 

By the time Spencer reached the door to the conference room, he could tell the meeting was almost over. He could see through the window that everyone was standing up, nodding after Hotch said something. Spencer listened through the cracked door. 

“...And no matter what, don’t let Spencer find out until I say so,” Hotch instructed. “Got it?” 

Everyone reluctantly agreed.

Spencer opened the door. Most of the room looked like a deer caught in headlights. Hotch looked at the floor. 

“Don’t let me find out what?” Spencer asked. 

Emily and JJ refused to make eye-contact. Derek and Rossi looked sympathetic. Hotch looked to Spencer, and sighed in resignation.

“There’s an active shooter inside of Highland General Hospital.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

While everyone else in the room stood still in shock, you launched into action. You carefully flipped Jax over, noticing he had an exit wound in the back of his shoulder. That was a good sign — it meant the bullet went straight through, which meant you didn’t have to worry about bullet fragments traveling and possibly rupturing organs. 

Once he was laying flat on his back, some blood shot out of the wound, as though pressure was no longer being held to it. You either threw a clot or decompressed an artery, or maybe both. You really needed a team of doctors and nurses, but something told you Ben wouldn’t let that happen. 

“Jax, this is gonna hurt, but I need to stop the bleeding, or you could bleed out,” you explained. 

His eyes were glossy and staring at the ceiling; he was in shock. He probably couldn’t feel anything. 

You hated that you had to ruin that. 

You plunged two fingers into the wound, slowly rotating them until you could feel the source. Jax cried out in pain, his screams growing louder each time you moved. 

“What are you doing to him?!” Idol screamed, rushing to his side. 

“I’m trying to save his life,” you said calmly. “If you want to be with him, go over there and hold his hand. If you can’t do that, you need to stay out of my way.” 

Reluctantly, with tears streaming down her face, Idol moved to Jax’s other side and picked up his hand. 

You see blood begin to pool on the floor. If you wanted to save him, you’d have to find that bleed, and you’d have to find it fast. 

You heard a ‘click’ come from above you. 

“We’re leaving,” Ben said, now pointing the gun directly at you.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“You’re house that sits behind me, is covered in ivy green…” _you sang as you scrubbed your arm with a loofa. The body wash you were using smelled a little more masculine than you would normally go for, but at least now you would smell like him._

_“Are you singing?” Spencer asked with a laugh. He flicked on the faucet for a few seconds before turning it off. Of course he brushes his teeth first thing in the morning._

“The windows that we watch from, are old and chipping at the beam…” _You continued, smiling to yourself._

_After making it to the chorus, you heard Spencer spit into the sink._

_“You’re awfully chipper for someone who spoke to their estranged mother less than 2 days ago,” Spencer pointed out._

_You pulled back the shower curtain, cocking an eyebrow as you leaned against the cool tile. “I can make you chipper too, if you want.”_

_You saw his eyes widen in the mirror, which made you laugh. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled as he turned around, which made you laugh harder._

_“Y/N!” He exclaimed. “What are you doing?!”_

_“I’m extending an invitation,” you said simply._

_“Believe me, I want to… do it,” he sputtered, “but not like this. Not now.”_

_“Have you ever… done it?” You asked with a chuckle._

_“...no, not yet,” he answered. “I was… waiting for the right person.”_

_“Spencer, open your eyes,” you said softly._

_Slowly, Spencer lowered his hand and opened his eyes. His gaze didn’t leave your face._

_“I haven’t either,” you returned, “and I also wouldn’t want it to be like this.”_

_“Oh,” he said simply._

_“Oh,” you repeated with a smirk._

_“...What are you doing then, exactly?”_

_You put a hand on your hip. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, I want to make out with my super hot boyfriend? You know, start the day off right?”_

_He stared at you for a moment. Then, Spencer began to look around the bathroom._

_“What hot boyfriend?”_

_With a laugh, you reached out, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him into the shower with you.  
_

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You continued to feel around in Jax’s chest. 

“Did you not hear me?” Ben asked rhetorically. He pressed the barrel to your head. “I said we’re leaving.” 

Idol whimpered and hid her face.

“The only way I’m leaving is if you drag my body out,” you stated. “I’m not leaving until he’s stable.” 

You kept digging, trying to tune out Jax’s protests and cries as you did so. Eventually, your fingertips felt a faint — but abnormal — sensation. You reached out to feel the artery, and sure enough, there was a tear. You immediately wrapped your index finger around it, using your thumb to block the tear.

“There’s a tear in the subscapular artery,” you determined. “My thumb is stopping it from leaking. I can feel the pulse getting stronger. But if I take my hand away, he’ll bleed out.” 

“What are you gonna do?” Idol asked, eyes wide as saucers. Jax was gripping her hand so hard his knuckles were white, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

“Ben is going to go to the supply closet,” you said, staring directly at him. “He’s going to get me a balloon catheter, 2 bags of saline, an IV set, 2 pairs of gloves, 5 of morphine, a blood pressure cuff, a pulse ox monitor, and all the gauze he can carry. Then, and only then, will I go with him.” 

Ben clenched his jaw in consideration. 

“I’m taking her with me,” Ben decided, gesturing to Idol. “Don’t need the three of you making any plans.”

“Fine,” you ceded, “but you put the pistol in your waistband. You don’t point it at her. You don’t threaten her with it. You really want me, Ben Silvera? You’re doing this my way.”

He crouched down with a sick smile. “Until you do it my way.” 

“...Until I do it your way,” you replied, holding back a gag. 

“You were always so… feisty,” Ben said, briefly curling his shoulders for emphasis. “Even in medical school, you had guts. I’ve always loved that about you.” 

Ben reached out, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. You closed your eyes as you shivered. A part of you wanted to pretend it was Spencer, but you weren’t sure if that would make it better or worse. 

Ben stood up with a sigh, tucking his pistol into the hem of his pants. Then, he stretched out his empty hand. 

“Give me your phone.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

_“This is Y/N, Prodigy Extraordinaire. But if you have my phone number, you probably know that already. Anyways, leave a message at the tone! I probably won’t listen to it, but it’s worth a shot.”_

“It’s Spencer, again,” Spencer said to your voicemail for the 5th time. He also tried texting Idol and Jax, but neither of them answered either. “Please, Y/N, for the love of God, pick up your phone.”

Spencer hung up and stared out the window, biting his lip. 

JJ set a hand on his leg, which made him turn his head. 

“She’s going to be fine,” JJ said. “She’s smart. She’s tough. She’ll be fine.” 

Spencer nodded and forced a smile. It didn’t ease the anxiety brewing in his stomach. 

“When we get there, you need to stay out of the way,” Hotchner said. It was no mystery who he was speaking to. “If you even look at that building, I’m locking you in a cop car.” 

Spencer couldn’t even formulate a reply — he just went back to staring out the window.

You always answered your phone.

“What are we looking at?” Hotch asked the second he stepped out of the SUV.

“The basement and first 2 floors have been completely evacuated,” an officer in a SWAT uniform replied. “We’re planning to evacuate the third floor next, but our main priority is locating the threat.”

“This hospital is 10 floors, not including the basement,” Derek said, looking over blueprints someone handed off to him. “He could be anywhere.”

“The only known victim, Dr. Charles Cabello, identified the shooter as Benjamin Silvera,” the SWAT officer said. “Your analyst at Quantico confirmed he was caught on hospital security tapes moments before the first 911 call.” 

“How’s Cabello doing now?” Emily inquired.

“He was airlifted to St. Mary’s. He’s in surgery, in critical condition, but stable for now.” 

“What’s Silvera’s criminal record?” Rossi asked. 

“He doesn’t have one,” the man responded. “In fact, he’s employed as a Resident Pediatrician at this very hospital.”

“That’s how Dr. Cabello knew his name,” JJ thought aloud. 

With a frown, Spencer stepped aside, the gears in his head beginning to turn. He knew Cabello was your boss. He didn’t recognize the name ‘Silvera’, but something about ‘Benjamin’ sounded vaguely familiar. 

“Did Cabello say anything else?” Derek asked. 

“He said… ‘save her’. ‘Get her out’. He’d lost a lot of blood, though. He was probably delirious.” 

Get her out.

Save her. 

Spencer opened his phone and pulled up his most recent texts.

_  
Spencer, 9:52_

_Do you have a buddy?_

_Y/N, 9:53_

_Jax and Idol are here. My lunch date stood me up ;(_

_Spencer, 9:53_

_Who’s your date?_

_Y/N, 9:54_

_Ben. Wish it was you, though <3  
_

“Kid, what’s on your mind?” Derek prompted. 

Spencer turned around. 

“It’s Ben,” he muttered.

“...Yeah, we know that,” Derek replied. 

“No, I don’t mean the shooter,” Spencer argued. “Well, I do, but I mean the _UnSub_ is Ben. _Y/N’s stalker_ is Ben.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

The minute you could no longer hear their footsteps, you let out a sob. A loud, ugly, blood-curdling sob. 

“I’m so sorry, Jax,” you cried, reaching a shaky hand up to cover your mouth. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

“What are you crying for?” Jax asked. “I’m the one who got shot.” 

You looked up at his face — it was paler than usual. His lips blended in with the rest of his features. He looked like a ghost. Still, you could see a faint smile. 

You let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, you did,” you said. You used your freehand to brush back some of his hair. 

After wiping away some tears, you reached into your scrub pocket, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. You set the paper on the floor, and using your nondominant hand, slowly wrote a note. Between the abnormality and the anxiety, it was almost impossible to write, but you took your time to make sure it was still legible. 

When you were done, you returned the pad and pen to your pocket. You folded up the note and stuck it in Jax’s front pants pocket. 

“Is now really a good time to feel me up, Y/N?” Jax joked weakly. 

“Don’t tell Idol about it until you know we’re gone, okay?” you instructed. “Promise me.” 

“You can’t go with him,” he said. 

“I’ll be fine,” you promised, “but if I stick around, it might kill us all. I’m not going to risk that.” 

Jax took in a shaky breath. “You know what you’re doing?” 

“Don’t I always?”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“How can you be sure?” Hotch asked, but Spencer was already making plans. 

“Jax and Idol are in there… they have to be… but where?” Spencer mumbled. 

“Spencer!” Derek said, grabbing his arm. “Talk to us, man. The more you know, the more we know, which means the sooner we can get her out of there. How do you know this isn’t a coincidence?”

“Y/N and Ben are friends. They’ve known each other since they graduated from the same medical school in the same year. They’re both residents, so he could read her schedule at any time, and knew exactly which locker was hers.”

“The security cameras didn’t pick up anything suspicious outside the locker room,” JJ pointed out. “If Ben’s a doctor, he could slip in and out without anyone thinking twice.”

“But if he’s here for Y/N, why shoot Cabello?” Rossi asked. “How does that benefit our UnSub?”

Spencer considered this. “Cabello is her boss…” 

“Ben probably barged in, asked where Y/N was, and when he didn’t tell him, Ben shot him,” Emily theorized. “That’s how Cabello knew Ben was after Y/N.”

“She texted me at 9:53 saying Ben stood her up… what time did the first 911 call come in?” 

“9:58,” the SWAT member answered. “It was made by a staff member asking for the police.” 

“And when did the hospital go into lockdown?” 

“Code Silver activated at 10:03.”

“That gives him 6 minutes to travel anywhere in the hospital,” JJ concluded. 

Spencer shook his head. “Not anywhere. He knew that the Code would shut down the elevators.”

“He took the stairs,” Hotch agreed. “Assuming he’s of average build and in good health, he could have made it as far as -”

“4th floor,” Spencer interrupted. “The administrative floor. The one with the doctor’s lounge and locker room. Y/N keeps her wallet in her locker.”

“He’s on the 4th floor, and we’re assuming he has 3 hostages,” Hotch said, walking away with the SWAT officer to make further plans. 

“Good work, kid,” Derek said, patting Spencer on the shoulder. 

Spencer nodded vaguely, falling back into his trance of anxiety. Even working on the frontlines, he felt so… useless. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. 

Your caller ID came onto the screen. 

Wishful thinking got the best of him. 

He picked up. 

“Y/N?! Are you okay!? Where are you?” 

“Guess again,” Ben answered.

  
_≻ ───── “How to kill a king? It's simple. First, find a queen. Make her strong, make her smart, make her fierce. Then, scrape away all the love, and watch him choke." -C2S ─────≺_

__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> b>  
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),   
> which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
> 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> **  
>  **This Author replies to comments.** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
>   
>    
>  **
> 
>   
> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> Ha, gotcha! Another cliffhanger!
> 
> Okay, to be fair, I didn't have this in mind — when I actually started writing, I realized I had a lot more to say, lol. But regardless, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Until next time... xx


	8. Fear of the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did this happen?
> 
> How the _hell_ did you get here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... it's been a minute.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me the past month(ish), between the end of the semester and all the COVID-19 shit going down, it was really hard to find the time/motivation to write. This chapter is 1k+ longer than the others, so I hope that makes up for the wait :)
> 
> Otherwise, I think that's it! I hope you enjoy this chapter — it was a lot of fun to write.
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=0lqHrNuT_L4)
> 
> _italics = flashbacks_

_“For a doctor, I really thought you’d be smarter than that,”_ Ben remarked. _“Y/N goes on and on about how smart you are, you know. I don’t see it, personally.”_

“I know where she is,” Spencer said, trying to keep his voice level. Still, it shook with anger. “I know where you’re keeping her. I study people like you for a living, Benjamin Silvera, so I know how your story ends.” 

_“No, you don’t,”_ Ben stated. “ _You don’t know how this story ends. This isn’t just another case; I’m not just another criminal for you to profile. I’m the guy who’s holding your girlfriend hostage. And you know what, Doc? If you so compel me to, I’ll be the guy holding a gun to her head. I’m running this show. I’m deciding how the story ends.”_

“Kid?” Derek asked, looking up from whatever was keeping him occupied. “Who’re you talking to?” 

“He has her phone,” Spencer said with a swallow. 

_“If you pass me off to the Feds, I’ll hang up, and I won’t call back,”_ Ben threatened. _“I’m only talking to you.”_

Derek was already rounding up the troops. 

“...Then talk.”

_“Someone’s been shot,”_ Ben said plainly. _“He’s still alive, but I’m not telling you who or where he is until I’m ready. You’re not going to swarm in here until I call back.”_

“Why’s that?” Spencer asked.

_“Because if you do, I’ll put a bullet between her eyes,”_ Ben replied. There was no malice or venom in his tone — he sounded matter-of-fact, like his words were the only option. In a way, Spencer supposed they were.

_“Chop Chop, Dr. Reid,”_ Ben prompted. _“That boy won’t survive without a surgeon.”_

The line went dead.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Blood pressure is going up,” you determined, taking your stethoscope out of your ears as you drained the cuff of its air. 

You just finished packing the wound to the best of your ability, which included a now inflated balloon catheter. So far, it seemed to be doing the trick; along with his increasing blood pressure, Jax’s pulse was steady and his oxygen levels were acceptable. 

“That’s good, right?” Idol asked. She was still holding his hand. 

“That’s really good,” you assured, which caused her to visibly relax. 

You looked back to Jax. Ben managed to find an oxygen tank, so a cannula wrapped around his ears and fed into his nose. The saline bag for the IV you placed hung off of the said tank. Blood smeared his pale arm, neck, and his even paler face. Despite the gloves you were now wearing, halfway up your forearm was stained different shades of copper and crimson. 

“Jax, how are you feeling?” You asked, a little louder than you normally would. 

You brushed a hand through your friend’s hair, which caused him to lull his head in the direction of your voice. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was grumbling and murmurs. His eyes remained closed. 

“What does that mean?” Idol asked, once again frantic. “Why isn’t he talking? Can he not talk?” 

“It’s just the morphine combined with the shock,” you promised. “He’s alright. He’s going to be fine.” 

“Then it’s time to go,” Ben chimed in. 

He stood by the door, watching through the window carefully. He held his gun to his chest, ready to fire at any moment. 

“You can’t leave,” Idol sobbed. “What if he dies? What if he starts to die and you’re not here?” 

“He’s not gonna die,” you said, leaving no room for question or debate. “You’re going to sit here, and you’re going to stay with him, and you’re both going to be okay.” 

“Let’s go,” Ben said, walking over and grabbing you by the arm. Thankfully, the gun was at his side — he wasn’t actively using it to threaten you. Yet. 

“I love you,” you said as Ben dragged you away and as Idol begged him not to. “I love you both. I’ll see you later.” 

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

There were a million signs, a million things he didn’t see. He normally catches these things. It’s his job to catch these things. This is exactly what happens when Spencer Reid misses things; his girlfriend finds herself on death’s doorstep. 

“Spencer?” a soft voice asked, plucking him from his brain and back into reality. 

Spencer cleared his throat, looking over at his best friend. He didn’t realize how long he had been staring at a window on the hospital’s 4th floor. 

“Do you want to sit down?” JJ asked. 

“I think better when I’m on my feet,” Spencer murmured. He chewed on his nails anxiously. 

“We’re sitting ducks out here,” the local Chief of Police, Andrew Meyers, said. He was a few yards away from Spencer and JJ, but he spoke to Hotch and Morgan clearly. “You heard what the kid said: someone’s been shot, and we’re twiddling our thumbs, doing nothing.” 

“We understand how frustrating this feels, but -” Hotch started to sympathize. 

“If we go in there when Silvera told us not to, people could die,” Spencer interrupted as he marched over. 

“No offense, son, but I’ve been on the force longer than you’ve been alive,” Meyers snorted. “I know a thing or two about how these bastards work.” 

“How many of those cases had a working criminal profile?” Spencer countered. “How many of them had hostages? How many of them were stalkers who suddenly reached a breaking point?” 

“Reid,” Hotch warned. 

“Look, I know you’re personally related to this case, but -” 

“Personally related?” Spencer repeated. “I guess you could say that.” 

“Come on, let’s walk,” Derek said, grabbing Spencer by the arm as he dragged him aside. 

“These people have no idea what they’re doing or what they’re talking about,” Spencer said. 

“Man, I know you’re a little freaked right now, but you can’t be jumping down officers' throats,” Derek lectured. “They just want to help.” 

“Yeah, I-I guess I’m a ‘little freaked’,” Spencer retorted. Anger, desperation, helplessness boiled inside of him. “The woman I love and someday hope to marry is trapped in a building with the psycho who’s been stalking her who also happens to have a gun! So, yeah, maybe I’m freaking out a little. Maybe I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind!” 

Heads turned the louder Spencer’s voice got. By the time he finished shouting, most law enforcement was staring at him. 

Spencer let out a breath, running his hands through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t normally swear. I don’t think I’ve ever yelled like that before.” Spencer closed his eyes, then looked at Derek. “What if he’s lying? What if he shot her? What if she’s already dead, and I’m standing out here, doing nothing?” 

“Go find somewhere to sit down,” Derek instructed calmly. “Take some time out.” 

Spencer nodded numbly. Just as he turned his back, however, his phone — which sat on an evidence table — began to ring. 

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

_  
“Are you sure he won’t be back soon?” You asked. You were so afraid of being caught, you could hardly eat any of your lunch._

_“I’m positive,” Ben assured._

_He sat in the desk chair, while you sat neatly on the desk itself. Matthew Jameson, the Head of Pediatrics, kept a pristine workplace. And, according to Ben, he took extra long lunch breaks on Fridays. Though you were nervous, you had to admit, it was a nice change of scenery. Besides, maybe one day, you’d sit in a similar desk. Maybe._

_“Got any plans tonight?” Ben asked. “You have all weekend.”_

_You frowned. “How did you know?”_

_“You told me.”_

_“God, I must be out of it,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I think I’ve been here for 20 hours now. It’s impossible to tell time in the ER.”_

_“You deserve the time off,” Ben agreed. “Cut loose, have some fun.”_

_“I think I’m just gonna sleep,” you chuckled._

_“What, no hot date?”_

_“No hot date,” you confirmed, shaking your head._

_“I really don’t get you sometimes, Y/N,” Ben said._

_“Why?” you asked, spinning around._

_“You’re smart, you’re successful, and utterly… beautiful.”_

_“Thank you,” you smiled._

_“You could have any guy you want,” Ben continued. “But you don’t date. You don’t even make an effort. Why not?”_

_You shrugged. “Well, for starters, I’m still a teenager; I don’t expect to meet my soulmate anytime soon. I think I’d only date someone if I knew it was going somewhere, you know? Otherwise, I don’t see the point.”_

_Ben studied you for a moment._

_“That’s it,” he decided, standing up. “I’m taking you out tonight.”_

_“What?” you asked with a laugh._

_“I’ll wear a nice shirt, you wear… whatever you want, and we’ll have dinner,” he said. “I’ll show you how much fun dating can be. And if you hate it, at least you got a free meal.”_

_You considered it. Eventually, you smiled, reaching out to fix the lapel on Ben’s lab coat._

_“Pick me up at 8.”  
_

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You sat on that desk now, only with blood staining your hands and face. You looked ahead lifelessly, tears welling in your eyes while Ben talked on the phone. 

How did this happen?

“He’s on the fourth floor, the Resident’s lounge,” Ben confirmed. “If you go any further, I’ll shoot her.” 

How the _hell_ did you end up here?

You heard Ben hang up. You still stared straight ahead. 

“That was your boyfriend,” Ben remarked, moving to stand in front of you. “He sounds pretty freaked out.” 

“You know, I like to think we had our first date in this room,” you said instead. 

His face contorted into a snarl. “You brought him in here?”

“No,” you shook your head. A tear escaped your eye. You wiped it away quickly. “I mean us, Ben.”

He relaxed; his shoulders dropped, and his face went soft. “I took you out for dinner on our first date.”

“I remember,” you said. “You stopped by my house at 8:05. You wore a blue button-down, I had on a red dress. I teased you, said I thought you were going to stand me up. I really thought you might, though, even though _you_ asked _me_ out.” 

Ben sat next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, just like he always did. For a second, you almost forgot there was a gun against your chest.

“Why would you think that?” He asked softly. 

“For a long time, I didn’t think I was capable of being loved,” you said quietly. 

Ben’s arm fell.

“Did he teach you otherwise?” Ben said, practically spitting the word.

“Maybe,” you admitted as he stood up. “Maybe someone else did. Maybe someone sooner did, like a colleague, or a friend.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair, contemplating your words. It looked like the angel and devil on his shoulders were in disagreement. 

“You better not be lying to me, Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth, “because if you are, I swear to God -”

“I’m not lying,” you cut him off. A few more tears fell. “I care about you, Ben. I care about you so much that I thought I could love you one day.”

Ben clenched his jaw. “Not anymore?”

“You shot my friend,” you replied. “You made me realize so many things, Benjamin. You told me for so long that I could be anything, and I finally realize that you’re right. I’ll always owe you for that.”

You looked down at your hands, then back up.

“But you shot my friend,” you repeated, swallowing. 

Ben began to pace. 

“You’re a smart man,” you continued. “I know it feels like you’re only emotion right now — I get that. But you’re smart. You’re smart enough to know that, considering the choices you’ve made today, this will never end the way you wanted it to.” 

You could see him getting angrier and angrier. His breathing became erratic, his pacing grew faster, he squeezed his eyes shut. Eventually, it boiled over, and Ben punched the door. You flinched.

“FUCK!” he shouted as his knuckles connected with the wood. “Shit. I fucked up. _Shit_.”

“It’s not too late for you to make this right,” you said. “You haven’t killed anyone yet. You still have choices to make, Ben, and no one else has to get hurt.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s too late.”

“It isn’t,” you assured. “If we go out there, and you give yourself up, you have a good chance of living. If you wait for too long, they might send a SWAT Team in, and all hell will break loose.”

“Is that what your boy toy told you to say?!” Ben shouted. 

“It’s what _I’m saying!”_ you shouted back. “I am trying to help you, Ben.” 

“What am I supposed to do?”

You swallowed nervously. “I have an idea.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“We’re coming out!” Spencer heard over the radio feed.

Moments later, SWAT officers in all black holding semi-automatics came barreling out the ER doors. On a stretcher laid Jax, who seemed to be in rough condition. A few steps behind him followed Idol, who spun her head around frantically. 

“No, you don’t understand — I need to talk to him,” Idol argued with the officer holding her arm. She was obviously still in shock, tear tracks still staining her cheeks, but she seemed pretty adamant. “I need to talk to Spencer Reid. He works for the BAU. He’s around here somewhere.”

“Idol!” Spencer called, jogging to catch up with her. 

“Spencer,” she returned, relief washing over her. “She’s fine, last I saw her. He took her, I don’t know where. She slipped this in Jax’s pocket when I left to get supplies.”

Idol handed him a piece of folded paper. 

“Thanks,” Spencer replied. “Can I do anything? Call your parents?” 

She shook her head. “I’m gonna hitch a ride to St. Mary’s, where they’re taking Jax. I’ll explain everything to them there.”

“Keep me posted,” Spencer returned.

“Last call!” a Paramedic from inside the ambulance shouted.

“Same to you,” Idol replied. She began to walk away, but after a few steps, turned around and pulled Spencer into a hug. 

“She’s gonna be okay,” Idol whispered.

Spencer gripped a bit tighter. “I really hope so.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

_  
“Isn’t this nice?”_

_You looked around the restaurant, shifting in your seat. It was nice: almost too nice. You felt like you were tainting the atmosphere by being there. Regardless, Ben insisted the two of you would have fun._

_“It’s very nice,” you agreed._

_“You look amazing.”_

_“I think you’ve mentioned that what, 3 times?” you smiled. “But thank you.”_

_He smiled back._

_“Oh!” He exclaimed in realization. Ben reached into his jacket, returning with a rose. “This is for you.”_

_You gasped softly, accepting the flower with a grin. “Thank you, Ben. That’s very sweet.”_

_“You deserve it.”  
_

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“You said she wrote this note when Ben wasn’t in the room?” Rossi asked.

Spencer nodded. “She slipped it into Jax’s pocket while Ben and Idol looked for medical supplies.” 

_‘Floor 6, Room 32’_ , the note read. Blood streaked red across the page. 

“She knew where Ben would take her,” Hotch said. “She knew he couldn’t resist whatever sentiment that room has, even if it wasn’t the most logical decision.”

“We can send a few officers in, direct mobile patients and faculty to the nearest fire escapes or the roof,” Derek suggested.

Spencer shook his head. “Ben said if anyone goes further than the 4th floor, he’ll kill her.” 

“He only shot people when they came between him and Y/N, which directly fits the profile. The only person in that building he’s interested in is Y/N, and he has her. As long as he isn’t provoked, by law enforcement or otherwise, he has no reason to shoot. We should wait for another phone call before we do anything,” Emily agreed.

“Don’t provoke him,” Spencer muttered. “Please, don’t provoke him.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Ben dialed the number before holding it to your ear. 

“Hello?” Spencer said.

You wanted to burst into tears at the sound of his voice. You couldn’t, though. You had to stick to the plan. 

“We’re coming out the front door, Ben and I,” you said with a shaky voice. “It’ll be me, then him. Hold your fire.”

Ben pulled the phone away, hanging up.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

_  
“Why did you choose to be an MD?” Spencer asked._

_You looked up at him._

_While you were perfectly fine with spending the evening in your bedroom, Spencer insisted on taking you out. What you expected was a restaurant, maybe a movie. What you got was so much better. Instead of taking you to a candlelit dinner, Spencer gathered up all the blankets and pillows he owned and took you for an evening drive.  
The two of you ended up in a random field. You were still in the state of New York, but it was somewhere you’d never been. Then again, you hadn’t been most places, other than NYC and Spencer’s apartment._

_Autumn was coming to a close, so the air was cold. Once you laid out a blanket and curled up next to one another, though, it really didn’t matter._

_The two of you spent most of the evening looking at the stars. It was impossible to see them in the city, and while you loved astronomy, you couldn’t remember a time you really got the chance to see it. With Spencer’s arm wrapped around you, both of you pointed out constellations as you found them, reciting the lore of each and deciding which were your favorites._

_When the conversation fizzled out, words were replaced by heartbeats. With your cheek to his chest, you listened to the steady sound. It was almost enough to lull you to sleep._

_That is, until Spencer asked you one of the most daunting questions possible._

_“It seemed… easy,” you replied, with a short chuckle afterward. Getting into and graduating medical school was unfathomable to a lot of people, but it was something you actively pursued at the age of twelve. “My father’s a doctor, and I knew I wanted to help people… I thought it was a no-brainer.”_

_“Hmm,” Spencer replied._

_You sat up, looking at him with slitted, suspicious eyes. “What does that mean?”_

_“What does what mean? I didn’t say anything!”_

_“Exactly! You always have something to say.”_

_“That’s not true!” Spencer defended, sitting up as well. “In fact, the word ‘always’ implies ‘on all occasions’, which would mean -”_

_“See! You’re doing it! You’re doing that... thing,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “No matter what anyone says, you find a way to elaborate.”_

_He looked down._

_“I think it’s cute, and charming, and kind of sexy,” you said softly with a smile, taking his hand. The gesture made him mirror your expression. “You really have nothing to say about me becoming an MD at 12 years old?”_

_“...I don’t want to offend you.”_

_“You? Offend me?” you snorted. “Spence, you’re crass sometimes, but I never take it personally because I know it isn’t personal. You know you can tell me anything.”_

_He sighed, licking his lips._

_“Do you ever feel like you… cheated yourself? Like you decided too soon? I mean, obviously, becoming an MD is an amazing accomplishment, especially at such a young age. It takes intellect, discipline, and incredible endurance. I don’t want you to think I’m taking away -”_

_“Honestly?” you said, cutting him off. “I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately.”_

_Spencer stayed silent. It was your turn to elaborate._

_“I think meeting you made me realize how trapped I feel sometimes,” you said quietly. You wrapped your arms around your bent knees in an attempt to shrink yourself. “I mean, I could be traveling the world, speaking at colleges, study whatever I want… but I made a decision what feels like ages ago, and I don’t know how to undo it.”_

_“...You can quit, if you want,” Spencer said simply. “Hand in your two weeks, catch a flight to Los Angeles, or France, or Japan, figure it out as you go. There are a million different people who would fight to hire you, no matter the job.”_

_“I can’t do that! I can’t just… quit,” you laughed incredulously._

_“Why not?” Spencer asked._

_“I have friends, I have my father,” you sputtered. “I have you.”_

_“We’ll be here when you get back.”_

_You bit your lip; you couldn’t think of a genuine answer._

_Spencer wrapped an arm around your waist. “You have a lot of money saved up, and you have the rest of your life to work. Travel. Sleep in obscure B &Bs. Find the best donut shop in the country. Meet scholars. Meet inventors. Go explore the world, and go find something you love to do.”_

_“I love being a doctor,” you said, which wasn’t a lie. You just didn’t love it all the time. But no one loved their job all the time. Then again, most people aren’t ‘born into’ their jobs._

_“Then be a doctor,” Spencer said, “but only if you want to be one. Not because it’s easy, or it’s what you think your father wants, but because it’s what you want.”_

_You leaned into him, your shoulder pressed against his chest._

_“I’m so glad I met you, Spencer Reid,” you whispered.  
_

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

The first thing you saw was light. Blinding light. The hospital was dark and dim when all the lights were out, which was quite the contrast from the unfiltered sunlight now hitting your eyes.

You held your hands in the air, proving you were unarmed. You stepped out from under the ER canopy while Ben remained in the shadows. 

“Don’t shoot,” You called out. “He’ll lay down his weapon as soon as you lay down yours.” 

After a few moments of consideration, the snipers and officers that lined the barricade were ordered to lower their rifles and pistols. You made a point not to look for Spencer’s face in the crowd, though you desperately wanted to.

Then, you felt Ben pull you against his chest, an arm across your chest while the other pressed the gun to your skull. 

Death stood in the shadows behind you. 

There was so much screaming. Some were pleas, others were demands. Ben didn’t care about all of that, though. You knew exactly who he wanted to talk to.

“You really thought you could take all the credit for her?!” Ben shouted. 

Spencer stepped forward, his hands raised as well. He hopped the barricade, approaching the two of you. 

“I waited,” Ben continued, anger making his voice shake. “I’ve known her since she was 13, but I waited until she was an adult. I was her friend. I was there for her. Then all of a sudden, you swoop in, and she’s all yours?”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Spencer said calmly. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” you said before Ben could say or do anything else. “Ben has known me for a long time. He’s been there for me when you weren’t. I was young, I was confused. But I know now. I know what I want. I want him. And I want you to get the hell away from me.” 

Spencer stared at you. You looked away in shame. 

“You can’t spend the rest of your life with her if you’re dead,” Spencer reasoned. “Right now, you could be looking at 25-to-life. But if you kill anyone, you’re getting the death sentence. And if you make any sudden movements, there are 3 snipers ready to blow your head off.”

“Give up the gun, Ben,” you instructed softly. “Give him the gun so we can be together.”

Everything was quiet. 

You could feel Ben’s head move as he looked around. There was no way out, especially not now. Spencer was right: there were two options. Neither were great, but one was definitely better than the other. 

Ben moved the gun from your head. He crouched to the ground, setting it down and kicking it away. He put his hands on his head. 

Spencer pulled you away as SWAT stormed in, yelling at Ben to lay flat on his stomach. Spencer didn’t let go of your arm until the two of you were over the barricade. 

“Jax, you have to help Jax,” You rushed out. “He was shot, I tried to help, but… Oh god…”

“Jax is at St. Mary’s Hospital. He’s in surgery, but he’s stable,” Spencer assured.

“And Idol?”

“She’s safe and with her parents.”

“Thank god,” you sobbed. 

You threw yourself into his arms.

“I’m so sorry for everything I said,” you cried, gripping him for dear life. “I didn’t mean any of it. I needed to make him think he had a reason to live. I’m so sorry.”

“You did good,” Spencer promised. “Don’t apologize. You did everything perfectly, okay?”

You nodded as you sobbed into his shoulder. 

You felt him pull back a little, but it was only to cradle your neck and kiss the top of your head.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said softly, holding you close. “I love you so much.”

  


  
_  
≻ ───── “The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth." ~ Ethiopian Proverb ─────≺_  


__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),    
>  which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> This was so intense, but really exciting to write. I hope you all liked it and are staying safe!
> 
> Until next time... xx


	9. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. many. tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, ya'll! it's been a MINUTE. 
> 
> Tbh I have no excuses, other than work. I've missed writing, though, and I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> I know things have been really crazy for so many people, especially in terms of jobs. But, if you love my work and you have a few dollars to spare, you can **[buy me a coffee through Ko-Fi.](https://ko-fi.com/saveyourblood)** Please, by no means feel obligated in any way; I'm not strapped for cash, I'm just curious if anyone would actually be willing to pay for what I write in any capacity. And hey, if you decide to support me, we can maybe work something out, like reading chapters early or commissions or something :) thanks in advance, I appreciate all of you no matter what! <3
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> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lG_fAZLvLbI)

You sat on the floor of your shower, letting the water hit your back. Your legs were pulled to your chest, your cheek resting on your kneecap. You could see some of the blood start to rinse off, creating ribbons in the water as it raced to the drain. The majority of it was on your hands, which remained mostly untouched by the water.

You stuck a hand out in front of you, examining the stains. The blood had long since dried, creating a film over your skin that cracked with movement and settled into lines. It was darkest at your fingertips, especially on the hand you used to help Jax.

5 hours ago, you stuck your hand in your friend’s bullet hole wound.

You knew that, no matter how hard you scrubbed, the blood under your nails would stick with you. It seemed like some sort of sick joke — like Ben was trying to get to you one last time. Like he was taunting you, breaking you down.

_‘Try as hard as you’d like,’_ you heard his voice, _‘but you’re never getting rid of me’._

You heard a soft knock at the door.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked gently.

You were surprised your dad let him upstairs.

When your father showed up the police station a while after the shooting, he was fuming. You were already sitting in an interrogation room, a nice police officer asking you to walk through what happened. You could hear both your father’s and Spencer’s voices growing louder, while Derek and a few other team members interjected. 

_“She is your girlfriend, not your daughter!”_ Your dad eventually exploded. _“You had absolutely no right!”_

Derek tried to be a voice of reason, but Eli was having none of it.

_“I’m getting my child, and I’m leaving,”_ he said, leaving no room for argument. 

From then until you got in the shower, you sat on your bed and stared at the wall. No matter how hard you tried, the events of the shooting kept flashing through your head. When you looked at nothing in particular, they clouded your vision. When you closed your eyes, they projected onto your eyelids. You tried not to think about it, but no matter what, your mind wandered back to the same place. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked. “Stupid question: of course you’re not okay. And you shouldn’t be. Well, I mean it’s totally okay if you aren’t okay. ...Can I come in?” 

You wanted to say yes. In fact, you wanted to scream it. But you couldn’t make any words come out. All you could do was stare at the corner of the tub, trying to think about anything but Jax laying in a hospital bed because of you. Laying on the ground, bleeding out, because of you. 

“Y/N, I’m coming in,” Spencer decided. “Yell at me, kick me out if you want. But for now, I’m coming in.” 

When you heard the shower curtain open, the only movement you could muster was the turning of your head. You didn’t speak, didn’t even make a sound. 

“Oh, Y/N…” Spencer whispered sadly. 

You didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve his comfort. You definitely didn’t deserve his pity, even if he offered it. You deserved to be fighting for your life. You deserved to be the one who got shot. 

Then again… maybe this is what you deserved. Maybe you deserved the emotional torture, the constant guessing game of whether or not your best friend was alive. If Jax died, odds are, it would be peaceful. But on your end? It’s something you’d never recover from. Maybe that’s exactly what you deserved. 

You didn’t realize Spencer was behind you until he gently pulled your shoulders back to rest on his chest. You could see he was still wearing his slacks, and you could feel his now soaked button-down against your back. While his intentions were pure, you weren’t sure if you should feel secure or exposed. 

After a moment, it didn’t matter. Exposed, guarded, it didn’t matter. Because all the same, you melted against Spencer’s body. You let him scrub at your tainted hands as they crossed over your chest. You let your head rest on his shoulder, chin towards the ceiling as he whispered words of encouragement and affection into your ear. 

You let Spencer dry you off and help you get dressed. You let him carry you to bed and tuck you in. You even let him stay. You let him wrap your arms around you, eventually lulling you to sleep. 

You didn’t deserve this.

You didn’t deserve any of this.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Jax suffered from Cerebral Hypoxia,” his doctor, Dr. Metre, explained. 

“Wh… What is that?” Jax’s mother, Rose, asked. She gripped her husband’s hand. 

You’ve been in conference rooms for bad news before. Most of the time, you stood along the wall, like your father and Idol’s parents were now. You’d watch attendings as they told strangers that their loved ones were knocking on death's door, or worse, had already entered. 

Sitting was so much worse than standing. 

“...Y/N?” Rose asked, turning to you with a desperate look on her face. The tear tracks on her cheeks hadn’t fully dried over the last 2 days.

“Oxygen to his brain was suspended,” you explained. “He lost a lot of blood, so… his blood pressure lowered, and his brain wasn’t getting the oxygen it needed.”

“What does that mean?” Henry, Jax’s dad, probed. “Did he… have a stroke? Does he have brain damage?” His gaze bounced between you and the doctors but ultimately landed on you.

“We’ve found no evidence of a stroke,” someone chimed in.

“What about brain damage?” Rose reiterated. Her knuckles were white from gripping Henry’s hand. 

“...We won’t know anything until he wakes up.”

“When will that be?” Henry asked.

Both of his parents were staring at you. You looked at the team of doctors across the table. They either looked sympathetic or didn’t look at you at all. 

“For now, he’s in a medical coma in hopes that some of the damage repairs itself,” you corrected. “It’s possible that, if he wakes up, his brain function will never be the same.”

“He… he might not wake up?” Rose asked, the panic in her voice growing. “How can he not wake up?!”

The world around you faded to blurred shapes and muffled sounds. Tears streamed down your face, yet you didn’t make a sound. The screaming and arguing were loud, but the sound of your own shaky breaths was louder, filling your ears and polluting your thoughts.

“I want to see him,” Idol decided as you walked out of the conference room.

The doctors left first. You, Idol, and your parents followed, leaving Jax’s parents alone with their thoughts. 

“Honey, you need to come home,” Idol’s mom argued softly. “You haven’t slept or showered in days.”

“Do you want to stay?” Your dad asked.

“And do what?” you countered. “Turn back time? Stop him from getting shot again? It’s a little late for that.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Eli said.

“Of course it isn’t,” Idol spoke up, but she sounded less than supportive. “It’s never Y/N’s fault. She can do no wrong, right?” 

“Come on,” Idol’s father said, grabbing her shoulders and turning her towards the door. “Let’s get you home.”

The argument ended before it could begin.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

‘I love you so much.’

_“I waited.”_

‘I love you so much.’

_“You think you can just take her from me?”_

‘I love you so much.’

_“I was her friend. I was there for her.”_

_I love you **so much…**_

“Are you hungry?” Your father asked as he paced around the kitchen, opening random cupboards just to close them.

You shook your head. Your stomach rumbled in disagreement. It felt good, though, in a weird way. Hunger, thirst, fatigue… it was all a reminder that when you strip away the eidetic memory and crippling guilt, you were still human. 

“Do you want me to call Spencer?”

_‘I love you so much.’_

It felt like, instead of grey matter, those words filled the space between your ears. The phrase bounced around your skull, echoing and rattling with each breath.

It was only a 4-letter word; it holds no weight on its own. Most of the time, it’s said in passing, when someone walks out the door or hangs up the phone. It’s a lullaby, parroted by partners in bed or parents wishing a good night’s sleep. It really shouldn’t matter.

Only… it did. It’s a word you’ve never breathed around him. Hell, it’s a word you hardly use at all; you could count on your hand how many times you’ve said it. You didn’t need to tell Spencer you loved him in order to know it. You love him. You’ve loved him since you met him in that old record shop. 

But never, in a million years, did you think someone like him would love you back. 

You shook your head.

Your dad sighed in a mixture of sadness and defeat. “What do you want me to do, kiddo?” 

There wasn’t anything he could do. There wasn’t anything you could do. Really, there wasn’t much of anything anyone could do.

Maybe that’s what hurt so bad. 

“There’s a rose,” you started, cutting yourself off to clear your throat. Your voice was rough and crackly from lack of use. “There’s a framed rose above my desk. Can you get it for me?” 

After a moment of processing, your father nodded. He set a hand on your shoulder before walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

When you could hear him returning, you stood up. When he offered you the pressed flower, you accepted it. You ran your fingers over the glass, admiring the rose in all its beauty. It was the first flower you ever tried pressing, and it took weeks. You were so happy with how it turned out, you bought a blank picture frame and hung it on your wall.

_‘You deserve it.’_

You turned the frame over and smashed it against the edge of the table. Your father stood in shock as you picked the flower out of the shards, cutting your fingertips in the process.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted, trying to wrestle it away from you. 

“I hate you!” You said as you tore apart the rose. Leaf by leaf, petal by petal, it fell to pieces on the floor. “I hate you so much!”

Your father grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you against his chest. You let out a sob, your knees giving out as you crumpled to the floor. Your dad caught you, running a hand over your head as he squeezed you tightly. 

“You’ll be okay,” he promised. 

You were really starting to doubt that.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“It’s not your fault.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. 

You were sitting on the edge of your bed, Spencer placed directly behind you. Your legs were folded and your hands were in your lap. Your head was tilted down as you examined the bandages on your fingertips. They were still throbbing. Your eyes still stung from crying.

“It isn’t,” Spencer reaffirmed. “Sometimes, things like this just… happen. Sometimes, there’s no preventing it. Call it fate, destiny, bad timing…”

Speaking of bad timing, that exact moment is when Idol appeared through your window.

“Are you coming tomorrow, or what?”

“I don’t know if I should,” you answered meekly.

She texted you earlier about visiting Jax tomorrow, right when visiting hours start. Apparently, they’re already weaning him off of anesthesia. You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t.

Idol crossed her arms. She was wearing different clothes from earlier, so you assumed she listened to her mother’s orders.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” she agreed.

You frowned. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?”

“You’ve been acting like a bitch since this morning.”

“You wanna know what my problem is?” She retorted. “Okay, um: It’s you. You’re my problem.”

“What did I…” you started but trailed off with a sigh. Too easy. “It’s not my fault he got shot.”

“Oh, right, how could I be so stupid?!” She replied with a bitter laugh. “Ben was stalking Jax, not you. It all makes sense now. Got it.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked quietly. “Can’t you see this is killing me?”

“Actually, it’s killing _him_!” Idol shouted. “Jesus Christ, Y/N, have you ever stopped to consider that not everything is about you?”

“I never thought it was!” you shouted back, standing up.

“How many times have we hung out — actually hung out — at the hospital?” Idol countered.

You had to think back through over a decade of friendship, over half a decade of you working in the hospital. 

“None,” you ultimately answered.

“Do you know why 3 days ago was the first time?” Idol continued.

You stayed silent.

“That was the first time in weeks we’d be able to see you,” Idol said, voice growing quiet in a mix of sadness and anger. 

“I was trying to protect you,” you argued.

“Yeah, clearly that worked out!” Idol growled as she began to cry. She wiped her tears away angrily. “You know, when you started spending more and more time with Spencer, we let it go. He was your shiny new boyfriend, and we thought it was a phase you’d outgrow. The more time went on, though, we realized it wasn’t a phase: you just found someone smarter than your dummy kid friends. You found someone who could challenge you.”

“Idol, that’s not -”

“We were okay with that too, at first,” she spoke over top of you. “We’ve always known we couldn’t be your everything. But then, you stopped calling. You stopped texting. You’d eat lunch with him. You’d spend all your off-days catching a train to DC. And for a while, we understood. We let it slide. But eventually, once again, we came to our senses. He’s not an alternative — he’s a replacement.”

“I’m not trying to replace anyone!” You disagreed. “You and Jax, you’re my best friends!”

“If he’s your best friend,” Idol challenged, stepping forward, “then you’ll see him tomorrow. You’ll see him, bruised and broken and connected to all sorts of tubes, not because you should, but because, as his best friend, you have to. And as much as it hurts to see him like that, you’ll know it’s hurting him and his parents far worse.”

Idol walked over to the window again, sticking one leg through and setting it on a stable tree branch.

“Prove me wrong, Abner,” She challenged before disappearing completely.

You closed the window behind her. Then, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You know, I keep trying to blame it on him,” you said, tilting your head up as more tears threatened to fall. “I want it to be Ben’s fault.”

“It is Ben’s fault,” Spencer assured. “He’s the one who shot Jax, not you. You _saved_ Jax.”

“She’s right — Jax never would have been there if it wasn’t for me. He never would have been in that hospital, he never would have gone into that room,” you argued. You turned around to look at your boyfriend. “I heard the code silver alert before they went in. I couldn’t remember what it was. I forgot what code silver meant. And now, my best friend is dying.”

“Y/N…” Spencer said softly. 

“You should go,” you whispered. “I think I need to be alone right now.”

Spencer pursed his lips before nodding. He set a hand on your arm, leaning in to kiss your forehead. 

“Call me if you need me.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Seeing him in a hospital bed was almost worse than being on the floor. The scene at Highland was much more gruesome, sure, but at least then, you had some sort of control. You watched him lay motionlessly, a breathing tube down his throat. All you and Idol had was the heart monitor and wheezing of the ventilator to keep you company. 

“It should have been me,” you muttered as you ran a hand through your friend’s hair. Idol brought a comb, knowing Jax would want you both to maintain his signature locks. 

“Shut up,” Idol replied. 

She was holding his hand with both of hers, staring at his face. When you closed your eyes, it brought you back to the Resident’s lounge. You could see blood splattered over Jax’s face, the same blood that coated your hands. You could see the terrified look in Idol’s eyes as she looked between the two of you. 

You tried not to blink. 

“I’m the one he wanted,” you persisted. “I could have gone with him. I could have made you two leave… I could have done things a lot differently.”

“Yeah, and Jax could have not lunged at him,” Idol said. “He could have just stayed put and shut up. But he didn’t. And now he’s here.”

“We’re all on the same side, Idol,” you reminded softly. 

Her face scrunched up, and after kissing Jax’s hand, she let out a sob. It was the first time you’ve seen her break down over anything. The sight alone made you well up. 

“I wanted it to be you too,” she cried, sniffling. “From the second he got out of surgery, I wished it was you instead. But if it was, you’d be dead. At least this way, one of us has a chance.” 

“If he could see us, he’d be laughing,” you remarked with a chuckle. “He’d call us stupid for wasting so many tears.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Idol agreed. 

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“I’m so sorry for everything I said, Y/N,” Idol apologized. If the room wasn’t so quiet, it would be easy to miss.

“Don’t be,” you promised. “You were right, about all of it. And I’m really, truly sorry for making you and Jax feel inferior — you’re two of the most important people to me. I’m sorry I haven’t been acting like it.”

“You’re growing up,” She laughed softly, only to wipe away a few more tears. “No matter what happens, promise me we’ll always be friends. Losing Jax is unthinkable, but losing both of you? I don’t think I could take it.” 

“Hey,” you said softly, walking over to the other side of the bed. You pulled her into a hug. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Beep beep beep.

Beep beep beep.

Beep beep beep.

The heart monitor began to pick up.

“What’s going on?” Idol asked as the two of you parted. 

“I don’t know…” you admitted.

Jax began to make a choking sound. 

“Oh god…” Idol whispered.

“Oh my god!” you shouted, but you were beaming.

“Wait, that’s good?!” Idol shouted back, confused.

You were already peeling the tape off of his face. Slowly and methodically, you pulled the tube out as Jax continued to make struggling sounds. 

After fully removing the tube, Jax let out a couple loud, ugly coughs. You were repeatedly pressing the nurse call button. 

“He’s breathing on his own,” Idol said in disbelief. 

“Jax?” you asked as his body began to relax again. You could see his chest continue to rise and fall, this time without the help of medical intervention. “Can you say something?”

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“...Ouch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),    
>  which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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> 
>   * Short comments
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>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
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>  **This Author replies to comments (excluding extra kudo comments).** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
>   
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>  **
> 
>   
> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺


	10. Alone Made of Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been nearly 3 months???
> 
> College is crazy, ya'll. I'm still living at home, but this year is weird. And busy. And crazy. But I finally found the time to sit down and write!
> 
> To anyone still reading this: thank you. I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM0daiDlCQ0)

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” 

You smiled as Spencer leaned into you.

He spent the night, and you decided to spend the morning making cookies. As you stirred the dough, Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist. He leaned in to kiss your neck. The ends of his wet hair tickled your skin. Even fresh out of the shower, he smelled like his usual orange and musk cologne. He must have found the bottle you bought and left in the bathroom.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you promised, turning around to wrap your arms around him.

“You sure you’re coping?”

“I’m not just coping -” you paused to kiss him, “-I’m baking.”

“You’re funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” you agreed. “But seriously, I’m good. Jax invited me to his physical therapy appointment later. Gives me something to do, at least.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows. “At the hospital?”

You nodded.

“Are you ready for that?”

“I’ll have to be, eventually,” you shrugged. “It’s been a week already. They reopened two days ago, with extra security and metal detectors at the front doors. I think it’s time to tear the bandaid off.” 

Footsteps came from the staircase. You and Spencer parted ways, just in time for your father to reach the kitchen. 

“Good morning,” he said after a beat of silence. He was already dressed for work in his usual white button-down and red tie. 

“Morning, dad,” you said. “Spencer spent the night.”

“You don’t say.”

“Good morning, sir,” Spencer replied, clearing his throat. He probably regretted wearing only a towel downstairs. “I’m sorry for not consulting with you.”

To both yours and Spencer’s surprise, he chuckled. 

“It’s fine — you’re welcome anytime,” your dad assured. “And, actually… I wanted to apologize to you.”

Spencer looked to you, which only caused you to shrug.

“What for, sir?” 

“The way I spoke to you at the police station,” Eli explained, glancing at the floor. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry for yelling.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Spencer assured. “You reacted the way any parent should. Besides, I should have called you.”

“I’m sure it was against protocol.”

“Fuck protocol,” Spencer retorted. 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. 

“If I were you, I’d want to know,” Spencer continued. 

“Well, regardless, thank you for protecting my daughter,” your dad thanked.

“Thank you for letting me,” Spencer said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. 

“Alright, enough of the emotional, sappy bullshit,” you joked, lightly pushing Spencer away. “Go, get dressed. I’ll drive you to work.” 

You returned to your cookie dough once Spencer walked upstairs. 

“McGregor called against last night,” Your father said as he got some coffee.

You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. Dr. McGregor picked up as the temporary Chief Resident, filling Cabello’s place as he recovered. He’d been calling all week, wondering when you planned on returning to work. In the first voicemail, even he recognized how inappropriate it sounded, but he followed with the valid point that without you or Cabello, the ER was down 2 Residents. 

“Usual spiel?” you asked. 

“Something about the ER not functioning the same without you,” he recalled. 

You laughed to yourself. As long as you worked at Highland, McGregor doubted and insulted you behind your back. It didn’t really phase you — you were both Residents, and he had a lot to prove. It was easy to step on someone who had already been kicked to the ground. But now, he was the one being kicked, and turns out, he didn’t like it so much. Oh, the irony.

“Daniels called this morning, actually,” you said. You turned around to see your father’s reaction.

He cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “What did he want?”

“Don’t know,” you replied. “I told him you were still asleep, and he said he’d call back later.” 

“Probably needs a consultation,” your dad brushed it off.

“Wouldn’t he page you for something like that?” 

“Daniels is a great doctor, but he isn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed.”

You laughed. “Fair enough.” 

A peaceful silence settled in the kitchen before your father’s pager went off. 

“Trauma case,” he muttered under his breath. 

Without responding, you reached into the cupboard and grabbed a thermos. 

“I’ll be at the hospital for Jax’s PT later,” you said, handing the insulated mug to him. “Maybe we can have lunch?”

As Eli poured his coffee from one cup into the other, he spared a concerned glance.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. “If Jax can go back, so can I.” 

“Text me when you’re there,” he said. “I’ll see if I can meet you in the cafeteria.”

You nodded. “Good luck.”

“You too,” your father wished. 

He kissed you on the temple before leaving.

You stood frozen for a good long while; you couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you goodbye. Was it on your last day of med school? Graduation? First day of work at Highland? Or did he stop kissing you goodbye the day he stopped kissing your mother goodbye? 

You shook your head. It wasn’t worth overthinking.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I really hate hospitals.”

“I hate hospitals on my off-day,” you replied. 

“You’re seriously thinking of coming back here?”

You, Jax, and Idol were all walking in a line. You rarely got over to the orthopedics center, but you knew they worked both in-patient and out-patient. It wasn’t quite the hospital, but everything — especially the hallway — looked pretty damn close. 

The appointment was easy enough; Jax’s physical therapist was starting him off on simple mobility exercises. By the end, he said that assuming all instructions are followed, Jax’s arm and hand function will be basically back to normal within 3 months. Besides, said PT was free of charge to Jaxon and his family, considering how he got the injury in the first place. 

You shrugged in response to Idol. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Travel the world with your hot boyfriend?” Jax suggested.

“Do anything but stay here?” Idol proposed. “I mean, come on, Y/N.”

You laughed softly. “What?”

“You could be so much bigger than this place, bigger than this city,” Idol argued. “Why are you still here?”

“Everything I know is here,” you retorted. “Aren’t you tired of having this argument?”

“No, because apparently, you still don’t get it,” Idol said. “Y/N, you almost died here. What’s it gonna take for you to leave?”

You stopped walking.

“What do you want from me, Idol?” You asked.

Jax and Idol turned around to look at you.

“I want you to realize your potential,” she said softly. “You have so many opportunities than me and Jax. I want you to take advantage of them, that’s all.”

“What, am I not good enough right now?”

“Of course you are,” Jax answered for both him and Idol.

“Then why are you so desperate to get rid of me?”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Idol asked incredulously.

“I’m allowed to want things outside of a career,” you said. “I know I could be a professor, or a researcher, or a CIA agent. I know I could be anything that I want. But I choose not to be because I choose to be a friend, a girlfriend, a daughter. I stay because if I didn’t, I’d be alone, and what’s the point in doing anything if you’ll only end up alone?” 

“Can we please not do this here?” Jax begged. “Or at all?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Idol apologized. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll drop it.”

“Let’s go get lunch,” Jax said, already continuing to walk.

“You guys go,” you said. “I’ll catch up.” 

“Y/N…” Idol sighed sadly.

“I’m fine,” you promised, faking a smile. “I told my dad I’d have lunch with him. You guys go, I’ll see you later.” 

Jax and Idol looked at each other before hesitantly agreeing.

“You’ll be over for dinner, right?” Jax asked as they reached the exit. “My mom’s going all out. Plus, I found some shitty horror movies to watch. You can both spend the night.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you said.

Your friends waved goodbye as they left. Meanwhile, you walked towards the door that connected the orthopedics center to the hospital. 

As you walked across the hallway, you noticed there was a lounge towards the end. You looked in, expecting it to be some sort of waiting room. In reality, it looked almost identical to the resident’s lounge on the fourth floor. 

When you closed your eyes, you were back there. Back in that room, afraid your best friend was going to die. You could see his blood staining your hands, staining the tiles beneath him. You could feel the wet, sickening warmth of his chest, feel his artery pulse between your fingers. You could hear the gunshots, the screaming, feel the tears running down your face.

Someone tapped your shoulder.

You spun around, hoping, praying, it wasn’t Ben.

“Hey, Y/N!” Tony, a kind physical therapist, greeted. “Are you back to work so soon?”

You tried to talk, but everything you wanted to say tangled up in your throat. All that came out was a vague stutter.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a concerned frown. “You’re sweating.”

You reached up, and sure enough, beads of sweat were collecting at your hairline. 

“Y-yeah,” you eventually spat out, “I’m fine. I’ve… I gotta go.” 

An alarm sounded as you pushed the emergency exit open. Cool air hit your face, causing you to sigh with relief. You stumbled out of the center, feeling — and probably looking — like you were intoxicated. But not in that fun, ‘head in the clouds’ way; your limbs weighed a ton, balancing felt like an act, and you were afraid your head might fall off. 

You were having a panic attack.

The last time you could remember feeling this way was when you were in med school. A few years before that, you had them when your mom left. Everytime, you wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. You felt no differently now.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You spent the afternoon wandering around the city. Your feet grew tired, your stomach begged to be fed, but you just… kept walking. Walking to nowhere in particular. Walking in hopes to find someplace better. Walking for the sake of walking. 

You eventually found your way back to the suburbs, to your house. Your dad’s car was already in the driveway. You hadn’t checked the time since the morning, but if he was back, it was easily after 7PM. ...Did you really spend over 8 hours walking around the city?

You shed your jacket and shoes at the door. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, but you made no move to answer it. If it was Jax or Idol, they had each other to keep them company. If it was Spencer, he would know you want to be left alone. 

You walked through the front hall and into the living room. You planned on going upstairs, laying down, and eventually sleeping. No more confrontation, no more conversation. You wanted the day to end.

“Y/N,” your father said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You looked up to see him sitting on the couch. Only… it wasn’t just him. Dr. Daniels was next to him. And they were holding wine glasses. And your father’s arm was on the back of the couch, across Daniels’s shoulders. 

“I guess that explains why mom left,” you stated bluntly. 

Much to your surprise, your dad managed a chuckle. 

“Lance, this is my daughter, Y/N,” he introduced.

“We’ve crossed paths at the hospital before,” Lance replied. He smiled at you. “How are you doing, Dr. Abner?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you replied. 

Thankfully, before the situation could become even more awkward, the news story on the TV switched. 

“-Thanks Jon,” the newscaster said with a wide, fake grin. “And now, for our next story: one week after being terrorized by a gunman, doctors at Highland General Hospital are back to work — and picking up the pieces as they go.”

The camera cut to some generic footage of the ER as a different voice recapped the events. But eventually, the camera settled on McGregor while he was working.

“It’s been tough, getting back to work like nothing happened,” he said, now fully in the frame and talking to the interviewer. “Honestly, I’m lucky to even be here. Some of us are still recovering.”

“Who is Dr. McGregor referring to? His colleague, Dr. Cabello, was shot by former Pediatrics Resident, Benjamin Silvera. He is still recovering at St. Mary’s hospital, but is expected to make a full recovery,” the voiceover said.

“Honestly though? I have a lot of respect and admiration for Dr. Abner,” McGregor continued. 

Both your father and Dr. Daniels looked at you.

“Dr. Y/N Abner, daughter of Dr. Eli Abner, saved one of her best friends in the shooting. She was repeatedly held at gunpoint by Silvera, but officers say thanks to her, there were no fatalities that day. And to top it all off?”

“She’s only 18 years old,” McGregor said with a grin. “We were already honored to work with such young and raw talent, but now, we at Highland think of her as a hero, We can’t wait for her to return to work.” 

The camera cut back to the newscaster in the studio, once again beaming. “Such a terrible story, but what an incredible young woman,” she praised.

“Y/N?” your dad asked carefully.

You shook your head, letting out a bitter laugh. 

“Unbelievable,” you said, walking back to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Did you spend the night?” 

You slowly blinked awake, sitting up with a sigh. As you came to, you remembered where you were: you were outside of Spencer’s apartment. You drove to DC after seeing that news segment, and when Spencer didn’t answer your texts, you decided to wait up for him outside. When you got there, it was dark out, but now, the Sun was starting to come up.

“Yeah,” you said, then proceeded to yawn. “I guess I did.”

“We were called in for a consultation, the jet landed an hour ago,” he explained. “What are you doing here?”

“We should go somewhere.”

Spencer frowned, taking a seat on the stairs next to you. “Where? Where should we go?”

“I’ve always wanted to go to California. Or Amsterdam. Or Spain.”

“Y/N, did something happen?” 

“I’m just… sick of being here, you know?” you said. “Everyone knows who I am. Everyone wants something from me, or wants me to do something, and I’m so tired of it. I hate it. And you know what’s funny? I get hundreds of emails from colleges and hospitals and research teams, offering me unimaginable things. I’m extraordinary to everyone that I don’t know, but underwhelming to the people I do.”

“What are you talking about?” Spencer asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You had to admit: it was a lot of word vomit. Everything you’ve been thinking and feeling since the shooting came gushing out, and not all of it made sense.

“Go away with me,” you whispered. “It doesn’t have to be California, or Amsterdam, or Spain. But let’s go someplace where no one knows who we are, and no one cares, and it’s just us.” 

“Y/N…” Spencer said, brushing your cheek. 

Your heart sunk to your stomach.

“You’ve been through something traumatic. Let the dust settle. Let it hurt. And, if you still want to go to California or Amsterdam or Spain, I’d love to go with you.” 

You stood up.

“What happened to your ‘only be a doctor if you want to’ speech? Were you lying, or was that just a bunch of bullshit?”

“That was before you had a stalker, before he held you at gunpoint, and before he shot and almost killed your best friend,” Spencer retorted. “I stand by what I said, but… things are so different now. All you have to be right now is a person; you don’t have to find your purpose, not right now.”

“Why is everyone acting like I was the one who got shot?” you asked. “I’m not the one who almost bled out. I’m not the one who has to go to physical therapy, whose arm is in a sling. I’m not the one who almost died. So why is everyone treating me like I’m a delicate flower that could break at any moment?” 

“Someone you thought you knew turned out to be a sociopath who’s obsessed with you,” Spencer said. “That’s a lot for anyone to take in. But he went to where you work, he waited for you like an animal hunting his prey, he -”

“I know what happened,” you cut him off. 

Spencer stood up, facing you. He ran a hand through your hair. 

“Take some time,” He repeated softly. “You have the rest of your life to figure that stuff out. The world can wait another week.” 

You reached up to kiss him.

“Come inside, get some real sleep,” he offered. “I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you are too.” 

“Actually, I think I’m gonna go home,” you said. “I sleep better in my own bed. No offense.” 

Spencer chuckled. “None taken. I’ll see you, okay?”

“See you later,” you returned, and proceeded to walk down the stairs. 

Once you got into your car, you spared Spencer a wave before driving off. 

You were supposed to stay on I-95; it was practically a straight-shot from DC to NYC. But somewhere along the line, you took an exit. You weren’t sure which one. You weren’t even sure where it would take you. But really, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter where you were going. You wouldn’t be somewhere where everyone knows who you are. You wouldn’t hear whispers on the subway. You wouldn’t see a coworker who hates you brag on the news. You wouldn’t have to listen to one of your best friends talk about how much she wanted to get rid of you, and you wouldn’t have to look the other in the eye. All that mattered is you wouldn’t be going home. 

Anywhere but here.

  
_  
≻ ───── “There's something soft in me ─ we killed it and it's rotting." ~Cassandra de Alba ─────≺_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),    
>  which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>    
> 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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> 
> **  
>  **This Author replies to comments (excluding extra kudo comments).** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
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> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> I hope you liked what you read! 
> 
> Stay safe and happy <3
> 
> Until next time... xx


	11. Far From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were just a girl in a car going somewhere. You didn’t matter. You were no one.
> 
> It felt great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Me, opening a coffin* ya'll miss me?
> 
> Seriously though, thank you for dealing with me. This last month especially has been crazy - Between getting a promotion at work, A+P kicking my ass, and working with a non-profit organization, life has been c r a z y. I wrote basically this entire chapter in the span of 3 days because I finally had a few days off. 
> 
> That being said, the end of Prodigy is in sight, which is a bittersweet feeling! I think there's only 2, maybe 3 parts to go. 
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8y4Sz8_Oq1M)
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings are spoilers** , so they will be listed in the end notes. It's nothing you wouldn't hear/see on the show, but take care of yourself <3

You turned off your phone the second you skipped your exit; you were smarter than to leave it on. If your father didn’t cheat the system, then Spencer would surely recruit Garcia to tap and trace any call you picked up. 

You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know what you were looking for, or if you were even looking for anything. All you knew is that you weren’t going to find it here. 

After about 3 hours, you found an exit with a gas station. You topped off your tank, paying inside with cash. Again, you were smarter than to use something that creates a trail. As you accepted your change with a smile, you noticed that there was a payphone hanging on the wall in the hallway leading into the bathroom. 

You looked at the coins in your hand: one quarter, two dimes, one nickel, three pennies. You reached into your pocket, coming back with a dollar. 

“Can I get some quarters, please?”

You slotted five quarters into the slot, lifting the handset to your ear as you dialed. There wasn’t even a full ring before someone picked up.

 _“Where are you?”_

You smiled. “No ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?” 

_“Spencer thinks you were kidnapped. Your father thinks you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.”_

“Sounds about right,” you nodded.

_“When are you coming home, Y/N?”_

“Come on, you know me better than that, Jax,” you said. You paused. “Spencer is there with you, isn’t he?” 

Jax took in a long breath.

 _“Your dad is too,”_ he ceded.

You smiled faintly. 

“Can you let them know I’m okay? I don’t want anyone to worry about me.”

_“Can you tell me the same?”_

“I’m not planning on offing myself if that’s what you mean.” 

It was supposed to be a joke, but neither of you laughed. 

“I’m gonna be fine,” you promised. “I’m just… looking for something.” 

_“Looking for what?”_

“I’ll tell you when I find it.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You weren’t a complete idiot — you mapped out the drives you didn’t know. By the time you hit Pennsylvania, you were in uncharted territory, and the last thing you needed was to break down or run out of gas in the middle of nowhere. 

After spending a few hours in Pittsburg, you decided to head West to Cleveland. You planned on making it without stopping, but you were already at half a tank. You weren’t taking any chances. 

As you filled up at a local gas station, you pulled up your Maps app; you were in a small Pennsylvanian town called “Ellwood City.” It was totally refreshing yet utterly terrifying that you had no idea where you were. 

You selected one of the alternate routes, one that took you on highways rather than the interstate. Your eyes were starting to hurt from all the oncoming headlights, but you weren’t tired enough to want to find a hotel room. Besides, you made a pact with yourself to only stay at well-known hotels in bigger cities. Running away wasn’t exactly a smart decision, but that didn’t mean you had to be reckless.

As you drove the road less traveled, you found a piece of what you were looking for: enlightenment. The only people around were the occasional cars driving by, but they were so busy worrying about themselves that they couldn’t care less who you were or where you were going. You don’t matter to them. They don’t matter to you. You were just a girl in a car going somewhere. You didn’t matter. You were no one.

It felt great.

You looked in your rearview mirrors, then in front of you, then the other lane. No one. Absolutely no one. There was the occasional house and/or barn, but most of them had the lights out. As far as you were concerned, they didn’t exist.

You pressed on the gas pedal. You watched as the speedometer rose to 10mph over the speed limit. 15. 20. 

You rolled down the window, smiling as the cold air hit your face. You turned up your radio so that it was louder than the wind and the engine combined; had you stayed in one place long enough, the bass would probably shake the pavement.

You felt your heart pumping in your chest. You heard blood coursing through your head, behind your eardrums. For the first time in a long time, you felt alive.

That is until you noticed something standing in the middle of the road.

Logic told you it was a deer, but your instincts told you to slam on the break. As you slowly skidded to a stop and pulled over, your brain pieced the picture together. It wasn’t a deer — it was a _person_. 

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline, the anger, or both, but something possessed you to step out of the car, one hand on your pepper spray as you stepped out.

“What the hell was that?!” you shouted, expecting it to be some dumb kid playing a game of chicken. You didn’t move any further than your headlights, in case you needed to flee quickly.

As the person came into your line of vision, you realized you were right about one thing — it was a kid. Only, he didn’t look like he was playing chicken. 

His cheeks were red from the cold, but his eyes were redder, and he was panting as though he had just run a marathon. He was a little bit taller than you, but his face looked younger than yours. Yet, somehow, he looked as though he was from another century.

He wore a straw hat, blue slacks, and black boots. A heavy wool coat wrapped itself tightly around his midsection. 

Amish.

“You have to help us,” he pleaded. “Jacob, my little brother…”

You didn’t even ask any questions; you walked back to the driver’s side door.

“Get in.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“So, what can we do?”

“There isn’t much we can do until we don’t hear from her within 24 hours.”

Eli Abner, Spencer, Jax, and Idol all spent most of the day at your house, though it wasn’t for an enjoyable reason. After Jax got a phonecall from, your father practically demanded anyone you might contact stay at home. Not that the three of them minded, of course. Everyone was worried about you in their own way.

“Can’t we track the next phonecall, or report her as a runaway?” Your dad asked, pacing.

“She doesn’t want to be found,” Jax interjected. “She’s smarter than to let it happen on accident.”

“She can’t be reported as a runaway because she’s not a minor, and tracking her next call would only lead us to a gas station or random corner. She’ll be long gone by the time we get there,” Spencer agreed.

“Then we lie, say we haven’t heard from her,” Idol suggested. “Would that get federal police involved?”

“Even if that weren’t a crime — which it is — we’d need probable cause or evidence that she isn’t in the state. None of us can prove that.”

“Then what do we do?” Idol asked.

“...we wait,” Jax said. “We wait until she decides to come home.”

“What made her leave, anyway?” Abner asked rhetorically, finally taking a break from his constant pacing. 

Jax stared at Idol.

“What?” She frowned.

“You haven’t exactly been easy on her, Idol,” Jax stated. “We both know that.”

“You think I made her run away? You think this is my fault?”

“You just couldn’t give it a rest, could you? She went through something traumatic, and you just kept telling her to leave, to find something better. All you do is push her, and this time, you pushed her too far.”

“Someone has to push her!” Idol defended. “That girl is terrified of change, yet she hates it when things stay the same.”

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” Spencer interjected. “She said she wanted to go somewhere, talked about Amsterdam and Spain. I should have known she’d leave with or without me.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” Your father said. “We all know Y/N. We all know that once she gets an idea, she doesn’t let it go. We all could have done better, but it’s no one’s fault.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

The second you got out of the car, you knew it was bad. You kept your headlights on so you could see what Samuel, Jacob’s brother, explained in the short ride over. You didn’t need light to see how bad it was.  
Jacob laid on the grass, his legs crushed under a huge tractor tire. Blood pooled on the ground around him, and it even managed to splash his pale face. 

“We were just playing around… I didn’t see him. Is he gonna be okay?” Samuel rattled off.

You quickly got your medi-bag out of the backseat, rushing over and crouching at Jacob’s side.

“Hi Jacob, my name’s Y/N,” you introduced. “I’m a doctor. I’m going to help you, okay?”

“You look young,” he said through shaky breaths.

“I am,” you agreed with a small smile. 

You took off your coat, laying it over Jacob’s chest and arms. The last thing he needed was hypothermia, on top of everything else. 

You used the flashlight on your phone to examine the damage. Thankfully, your years of experience have taught you how to keep a straight face because otherwise, you’d be crying, gagging, or both.

You couldn’t see a single part of his right calf or foot, as the entire limb was crushed under the weight of the massive machine. However, only part of his left leg was under the tire, yet somehow, it looked worse. It seemed as though his entire left tibia was flattened, the skin on his calf turning dark purple under the blood splatters. 

You checked the service on your phone. Nothing. Not a single bar. 

Shit.

After getting a non-rebreather mask on Jacob and sticking a simple IV, you immediately got to assessing his leg. You had Samuel move your car — if he could drive a tractor, he could drive a car — so you had a better angle of light. Still, you held a flashlight from your medi-bag in your mouth as you examined the only leg you possibly save. 

You already tied a tourniquet around both of his thighs in the hopes that it would stop further bleeding. However, if Jacob were to keep his left leg in any capacity, you’d have to do something other than tourniquet it.

“I can’t feel a distal pulse,” you observed as you pressed two fingers to the inside of Jacob’s ankle. 

“What does that mean?” Samuel asked.

“It means his lower leg isn’t getting proper blood flow,” you replied. 

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, there was a crack of lightning, and suddenly, downpour.

“We gotta get out of here,” you mumbled to yourself.

“He can’t lose both of his legs,” Samuel cried. “Please, you have to fix it. Please!”

You wiped some now wet hair out of your face with the back of your hand.

“Think, think, think….” you whispered to yourself. 

You began frantically digging through your bag, looking for the biggest needles you could find. You managed to find two arterial lines. They’d have to work. 

“What are you doing?” Samuel asked as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“I’m putting in two catheters: one in an artery by his kneecap, and one in his femoral artery, which goes down his thigh. If I connect the two, the blood from the femoral artery should be enough to maintain blood flow to the rest of the leg until we get to a hospital.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Idol walked by your bedroom after using the restroom upstairs. As usual, everything looked in order. Everything you own has a place. Only, there was something out of place: Spencer, your boyfriend, sitting on the edge of your bed with a laptop open on his legs.

“What are you doing?” Idol asked, stepping into the room. 

“Something I probably shouldn’t be doing,” Spencer admitted as he typed into his keyboard. 

“...What does that mean?”

 _“It means he enlisted the help of a super-smart, super sexy FBI hacker,”_ a voice through his laptop announced.

“Where are you at with the toll booths, Garcia?” Spencer asked as he continued typing. 

_“Our dear friend Y/N Abner paid a toll to cross the Delaware Bridge at exactly 8:23 this morning,”_ Garcia informed.

“How’d you figure that out?” Idol asked, stepping further into the room.

_“A simple license plate search through the security footage. Amazing, isn’t it?”_

“What’s the last toll she paid?” 

_“The New Staton Interchange off the PA Turnpike, Exit 75, at 3:41 this evening.”_

“Either she stayed in Pittsburg, or she found a toll-free route,” Spencer determined.

“Well, she probably filled up or at least got something to eat. Plus, she loves the Andy Warhol Museum, so she probably took a detour,” Idol said, taking a seat next to Spencer.

“That means she’s had the last 4 ½ hours to do whatever she wanted,” Spencer sighed. “She could be anywhere. She could be 4 hours North, 4 hours South, 4 hours East…”

Idol pondered.

“Let’s think about this: Y/N want to get caught, obviously, so she wouldn’t risk doing anything that might get her caught.”

Spencer stared at her blankly.

“She wouldn’t run the engine for nearly 12 hours straight in fear of it overheating. She spent at least 2 hours in Pittsburg.” 

_“Oh, this girl is smart,”_ Garcia remarked. _“She sounds like you, Spencey.”_

“She wouldn’t go North because of potentially hazardous roads…” Spencer continued.

“She wouldn’t go South because it’s too predictable…”

“East,” they said in unison.

 _“Uhhh, guys?”_ Garcia chimed in. _“Her phone just turned back on.”_

As though on cue, Spencer’s began to ring.

“What Level 1 trauma center is closest to I-79 South?” You asked immediately.

With one hand on the wheel, the other holding your phone to your ear, you drove 90 mph down I-79. Thankfully, due to the weather and the time, there weren’t many other drivers. Still, the ones you passed laid on their horns and swerved to the side.

Jacob laid across the front bench seat, his legs in Samuel’s lap, who sat in the passenger seat. Every once in a while, you checked his pulse, but mostly, you kept a hand on his cheek. That is until you finally had cell reception and was able to call someone. 

_“General, or Pediatric?”_

That’s something you loved about Spencer — he was always on the same page as you.

“Pediatric.”

 _“Once you hit Pittsburgh, take the first exit to 228 and turn onto Dutilh Road. Hang another left on St. Francis Way, and Pittsburgh’s Children’s Hospital will be on your right.”_

“Call them, and tell them to have a vascular and orthopedic surgeon on standby. I’ve got a 14-year-old male with severe crush injuries to both legs caused by a tractor.”

You heard a siren, and in your rearview mirror, red and blue lights flashed. It was only a matter of time, you supposed.

“Dammit,” you cursed. 

_“I’m already on it, babe,”_ you heard Penelope say. You guessed she was talking through another device because it sounded even more grainy than Spencer’s. _“Pittsburgh and state police have been notified of the emergency.”_

Just a few seconds later, the police car passed you and pulled ahead, escorting rather than chasing.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, feeling some sense of relief for the first time in hours. 

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

By the time you got to the ER, there was a flock of doctors and nurses already waiting. Carefully, with Samuel’s help, they moved Jacob from the car to a gurney. You stepped out, immediately giving a rundown.

“I started 2 large-bore IVs in the field, but he’s still hypovolemic,” you said, following them into the ER. “I redirected blood flow from the femoral artery to the anterior popliteal artery using a 14-gauge catheter.”

“We’ve got it from here,” a man in a white lab coat said. He then looked at a nurse. “Catherine, will you show Dr. Abner to the lounge?”

A nurse in blue scrubs nodded. She broke off from the cluster surrounding the gurney, offering you a warm smile. 

“Let’s get you some fresh clothes,” she suggested. “Maybe coffee?”

It was then that you finally realized you were soaked in cold rainwater. A chill went through your body as you nodded numbly.

You sat in the lounge for what was probably an hour, staring at the wall as you nursed a cup of now lukewarm coffee. Nurse Catherine gave you a pair of clean scrubs, but your hair was still damp. A blanket hung loosely around your shoulders.

“Hey,” a voice at the doorway said. 

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“Hey Spencer,” you greeted softly.

“Samuel gave a statement. He said they work on the owner’s farm, and the two of them just wanted to have fun driving the tractor around. It was an accident, and the landowner probably won’t press charges for trespassing.”

You nodded. “That’s good.”

Spencer entered the room, taking a seat next to you.

“Elwood City police are escorting their parents here now,” he continued. “Jacob probably won’t be out of surgery until the morning, though.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say.

“You know, they think they can save his left leg,” Spencer said. “That wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

It wasn’t supposed to come out that way. Really, you didn’t want to say it at all. But you couldn’t help it. You were tired, your nerves were shot, and frankly, you were curious. 

“What do you mean?”

“I left, Spencer,” you said, as though he wasn’t well aware. “I left, you stayed, and somehow, you’re not pissed off. Somehow, you’re still here. Why?”

It felt like you were possessed; you didn’t know what you were saying until the words flooded out. Why were you interrogating him? Why don’t you just accept his unending kindness? Why do you have to push it?

“I love you, Y/N,” Spencer stated.

Ah. That’s why.

“I know you heard me say it outside the hospital,” Spencer said softly. “I know you heard it, and I know you haven’t said it back. And that’s okay — you don’t have to, not until you’re ready. And you know what? Even if you’re never ready, that doesn’t change how I feel. I’m not pissed because I love you, and I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

Your eyes welled up. What, in a million years and hundreds of lifetimes, did you do to deserve someone like him?

You sniffled, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”

  
_  
≻ ───── “Chemistry between people is the strangest science of all." ~Bridgett Devoue ─────≺_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject),    
>  which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>    
> 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> **  
>  **This Author replies to comments (excluding extra kudo comments).** _If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*._ I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I **_will read and appreciate it!_**  
>   
>    
>  **
> 
>   
> ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
> 
> **Trigger Warnings:** tractor/farm equipment accident, minor body gore/horror, mentions of blood.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Until next time... xx


	12. Hurricane Abner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _≻ ───── "Do not fall in love with people like me.  
>  With the lonely ones.  
> We will forget our own names if it means learning yours,  
> we will make you think hurricanes are gentle,  
> that pain is a gift.  
> You will get lost in the desperation,  
> in the longing for something that is always reaching  
> but never able to hold..." ─────≺_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at that, exactly one month later!
> 
> I hope you all had a happy holiday, and for those of you that have school, I hope your first semester went well! I myself am chronically tired, but *shrug* whatcha gon do? 
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you like this chapter; I had a fun time writing it, even though it isn't the happiest one.
> 
> Chapter Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MweznDDylOk)

New Year’s Day.

As always, the New York City streets buzzed. Still, there was something… quiet about the day. The weeks leading up to the 1st were busy, busier than usual. It was something you could feel in the air, that weird limbo between Christmas and New Year’s. Especially in NYC, there was so much preparation involved. By the time the clock struck 12:01, however, it was as though the entire city breathed a sigh of relief. The insanity is over now. Business as usual. 

The snow fell lightly to the ground. A white blanket draped itself over the city for a good few weeks now, but of course, the atmosphere continued to add to the collection. You watched from a conference room window on the 7th floor of Highland General Hospital.

“You’ve shown great promise over the years,” Dr. Sicil, the Medical Director of the hospital, noted. “Obviously, Dr. Cabello is a great loss to this hospital. However, this opens many opportunities.”

Apparently, they were still talking about you. 

“Dr. McGregor is excited to work under you, Dr. Abner,” Dr. Warner, the head of the ER, stated. “We’d like to promote you to Chief Resident.”

“Doogie Howser, Daddy’s Girl with Daddy’s money, stuck-up brat,” you said simply.

“...I’m sorry?” 

“Those are just a few of the nicknames Dr. McGregor has fondly called me over the years,” you explained. “Isn’t that right, James?”

McGregor refused to look directly at you.

Dr. Warner cleared his throat. “Well, we are truly sorry to hear that the two of you have trouble getting along, but the offer still stands.” 

You took in a long breath through your nose, exhaling with a sigh. You reached across the table, picking up your mug. The room was dead silent as you took a sip.

“Dr. Abner?” Sicil asked. “What do you think?” 

You looked over the room. All eyes were on you. 

“I quit,” you said.

You stood up, walked out the door, and left.

You guessed another inch of snow had fallen by the time you got home. It wasn’t coming down heavily, but it was enough to cloud the skies and get caught in people’s hair. 

“Okay, seriously? This has to stop.”

You looked from the window of your bedroom to the doorway. 

Idol stood there, leaning her hip against the frame. You immediately noticed that a part of her head was shaved.

“Finally cut your hair?” you said instead.

“New Year’s Resolution,” she replied, brushing her remaining hair to one shoulder. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Jesus, Idol,” Jax said, appearing behind her. “Don’t you get tired of the serious shit all the time?”

“You got shot,” She deadpanned.

“Yeah, like a month ago. Old news.”

“All I’m saying is Y/N broke up with him, not the other way around. One does the breaking, the other does the moping.”

“Why can’t she mope?”

“You know I’m still here, right?”

You broke up with Spencer about three weeks after returning from Pennsylvania. You didn’t give much of an explanation, mainly because you couldn’t give yourself an explanation either. It just didn’t feel fair that he had to carry all the weight. You weren’t capable of being a good girlfriend right now, and honestly, Spencer deserved better. And really, you hoped he could find better, though that didn’t make you — or him, probably — feel any better. 

“You can mope,” Jax granted.

“I’m not moping,” you said. “I’m just… thinking.”

“You’re always thinking. You’re not always thinking with such a pitiful look on your face,” Idol said. 

She walked into the room, snatching the blanket off your lap. She immediately grimaced. 

“Ugh, when’s the last time you showered?!”

“I’m too busy thinking.” 

“Up. Now,” Idol demanded, grabbing you by the arms.

As you showered, Idol and Jax sat on the toilet and counter, respectively. Apparently, they still wanted to hang out with you.

“You seriously quit, just like that?” Jax asked.

“I don’t know what came over me,” you said. “It was like all of a sudden, I realized how much I never wanted to go back there.”

“What are you gonna do now?” Idol asked.

“I have literally no idea,” you stated, “and you know what? I think I’m okay with that. All I know is that I’m not trapped at Highland anymore.”

“So… you’re good?” Jax asked.

You thought to yourself. You let the hot water wash over you, dampening your hair, and drenching your skin. You forgot how good it feels. 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

“Can you tell Spencer that?”

You frowned.

“Why does he need to know?”

You couldn’t see, but judging by the silence, Idol and Jax shared a look.

“He’s texted both of us at least 3 times since you dumped him,” Idol finally responded.

You shut the water off.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Snowflakes replaced the water. Even in DC, the snow was steadily piling. You walked up a familiar staircase; you had once fallen asleep on the fourth stair. Already, that felt like lifetimes ago. 

You typed in the security passcode with ease and were rewarded by the sound of buzzing. All it took was once. One time, and you remembered something for the rest of your life. You had yet to decide if it was a blessing or a curse. 

You took the stairs instead of the elevator in an attempt to burn off your anger. Really, all it did was remind you of the hospital. It made you remember how you climbed the stairs with your friends, how you stood in the hall to answer your phone, and how the words ‘Silver Alert’ signaled the worst day of your life. 

You opened the door, knowing he would be there. He never worked Tuesdays. You only knew because practically everything the two of you ever did together was on a Tuesday.

Spencer had a hand on his gun, undoubtedly because of how you barged in without knocking. The moment he saw it was you, his hand moved away, but his eyebrows furrowed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell am I doing? You’re the one who broke into my apartment!”

“...It’s not breaking in if you have the password.”

Really? That was your best argument?

“Why are you bothering my friends?” You continued.

This time, you got the reaction you were looking for. Spencer closed the laptop he was typing on, looking away in shame. 

“I needed to know that you were okay.”

“Actually, no, you didn’t,” you replied. “You don’t need to know anything because we’re not dating anymore.” 

“Y/N, you committed yourself,” Spencer said quietly. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not anymore.”

A few days after returning home, you and your father both decided it would be best if you spent some time in a psychiatric facility. The stint ended up being a little over 2 weeks long. The day after you got back, you told Spencer it would be best if the two of you stopped dating. 

You learned a lot in those two weeks. First of all, you gained a lot of perspective — despite your rough patches, you quickly realized how much worse off you could be. In comparison to some of your fellow patients, you were just a runaway with daddy issues. 

You also learned what PTSD does to the human psyche and why you reacted by running away. Before the facility, you were aware of some of your triggers; mainly, the hospital or anything relating to it set you off. With the help of Dr. Barron, your psychiatrist, you were able to identify that for a while, pretty much everything was a trigger. You couldn’t walk outside or even look at your friends’ faces without being transported back to that day. Dr. Barron was the only person who fully and completely understood why you ran away. 

“Spencer, you can’t message them — it’s stalker-ish. And in case you forgot, I don’t have a great track record when it comes to stalkers.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Spencer ceded. “There’s a boundary, and I crossed it. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

You turned around, walking to the door.

“Wait.”

You turned back to face him.

“It’s my turn to talk.”

You crossed your arms as Spencer stood up. 

“I love you. That doesn’t go away because you broke up with me,” Spencer stated. “You can deny it all you want, but a part of you still cares about me too.”

“I never denied it, Spencer,” you said quietly. 

You momentarily paced before letting out a laugh. “What does that even mean, ‘I love you’? We’re so young. It doesn’t mean anything. My dad loved my mom, my mom loved me. And you know how she showed it? She up and left. That’s all love is: a temporary force, the world’s greatest excuse.”

“Either you don’t know what it means, or you know exactly what it means,” Spencer said. “You can’t have it both ways.”

You ran a hand through your hair.

“You and I are good at knowing things,” you said softly. “I can explain a spinal cord reflex in unnecessary detail. You can look at a person and know exactly what they’re thinking. I know every layer of skin in the human body, and you know the population of cities thousands of miles away. Knowing is the only thing I’m good at. But I don’t know why my mother left. I don’t know why my father his his true self from me for so many years. I don’t know why Ben chose me, or what he wanted to do with me. I don’t know why Jax chooses to be my friend after I got him shot.”

You realized you had tears streaming down your face. You wiped a few of them away.

“I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. A girl who doesn’t know isn’t the girl you fell in love with.” 

“Don’t tell me who I fell in love with,” Spencer argued, taking a step closer to you. “I fell in love with a girl in a record shop. I fell in love with you over coffee. I fell in love with the girl who saves little boys’ legs. Everything else is just… filler.” 

The two of you were touching foreheads, breathing each other’s air. It reminded you of the first kiss the two of you shared.

_‘I’m not half of anything. I don’t want to be half of a girlfriend.’_

You kissed him. Against your better judgement, you kissed him. You kissed him so hard, you swore you saw stars be born and galaxies implode. The world itself concaved and collapsed in on itself. That’s what it was like with Spencer: reality as you knew it stopped dead in its tracks.

You broke away, coming up for air. 

“I don’t want to be half of anything,” you whispered, “but right now, I’m half of a girlfriend. You deserve someone who isn’t in pieces.”

And with that, you disappeared into the snow.

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“How have you been adjusting to life back at home?”

“Do you think it’s ever gonna stop snowing?” 

You were once again staring out of a window, watching snow fall blissfully to the ground. As far as you understood, it hadn’t stopped since yesterday. However, you learned a new development — they were calling for a blizzard by the evening. Maybe the constant flurries would finally be over. 

“I think we’ll get more snow before we get less,” Dr. Barron said. 

You had weekly sessions scheduled with Barron; it was part of the ‘healing process’, or whatever. You sat on the couch in her office, your legs crossed and back slightly hunched over. You always had terrible posture. 

You smirked. “Is that your subtle way of saying things always get worse before they get better?”

“I was merely commenting on the weather.”

You went back to staring out the window.

“I saw Spencer again. I kissed him.”

“Why?” 

“It was a goodbye kiss, I guess. Before yesterday, I couldn’t remember the last time I kissed him. Sometime before Pennsylvania, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Did he need a goodbye kiss, or did you?”

“I think we both did,” you answered. “It feels more final this way, like there’s actually some sort of closure.”

“Hmm,” Barron hummed as she scribbled something down.

You frowned. “What?”

“You have yet to fully explain why the two of you broke up in the first place.”

“I told you: bad timing -”

“-bad timing,” Dr. Barron said in unison. “Yeah, yeah. It’s always bad timing. What specifically makes it bad timing?”

“Well, the shooting, for starters.”

“That’s not bad timing. That’s a traumatic event.”

“What’s the difference?”

Dr. Barron remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

“What does any of it matter, anyway? Love, romance, dating… we’re both so young. Statistically, it’s highly improbable we’ll stay together forever.”

“That’s not bad timing either: that’s a circumstance.”

You huffed. “Alright, since you clearly know something I don’t, why did we break up?” 

Dr. Barron twisted her pen in her hand. “What was the last thing you said to him?” 

“I said ‘you deserve someone who isn’t in pieces.’”

“You believe he deserves someone better than you,” she summarized.

You nodded.

“Did he ever ask for anything you couldn’t give him?”

You pondered. 

“I guess not, no. It’s more like I was putting him out of his own misery.”

“You saved Spencer pain by deciding how he feels about you.”

“That’s not what I said,” you argued. 

“Did Spencer ever tell you that you were a burden to him?”

“No, but -”

“Then how do you know you are one?”

“Because I’m fucked up!” you shouted. “I mean, I am off the walls, totally bonkers, fucking insane!”

You took in a breath, and at a normal volume, continued.

“That man deals with enough crazy. I mean, seriously, some of the cases he works? It’s a miracle he can sleep at night. He doesn’t need me on top of it.”

Barron set her pad of paper and pen on her desk, leaning in.

“Y/N, listen to me, and listen to me good: you are not crazy.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

_I’m not crazy._

You repeated it to yourself like a mantra, over and over and over again. 

_I’m not crazy._

_I’m not crazy._

_I’m not crazy…_

_...right?_

You ended up walking home from your therapy session. Sure enough, a blizzard hit full-force — the sky blackened, the traffic thinned, the wind lashed at your bare skin. You wrapped your coat tighter and kept walking. 

By the time you got back, your feet were frozen in your boots and your hands numb in your pockets. Your father sat in the living room, watching the nightly news.

“Where have you been? It’s nasty out there! ...did you walk?” 

Your father was up, helping you out of your jacket and scarf. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re gay?” You asked instead. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it?” 

Eli stopped for a moment, clearing his throat.

“It never felt like the right time. I wasn’t sure you’d understand.”

“Dad, I read quantum physics papers for fun. I think I couldn’ve figured it out.”

He chuckled softly. 

“It had nothing to do with you, Y/N. I’m glad you know, though.” 

You smiled. It quickly fell.

“Does that mean you never really loved my mom?”

Your dad sighed, returning to his seat on the couch. He patted the empty space beside him.

“I loved your mother. A part of me always will. But I was never in love with her, and I don’t think she was ever in love with me.”

“What does that mean? How can only a part of you love someone?” 

“I love the part of her that gave me you,” he answered simply.

You considered this.

“Are you in love with Daniels?”

“His name is Jeremy, and…. Yes, I think I am.”

“What does that feel like?”  
Your father frowned as he thought. 

“Most of our pieces line up.”

“And the ones that don’t?”

“They don’t matter.”

  
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

It stopped snowing. 

You were staring out the window again, only this one was much bigger; it was the length of the floor to the high ceiling. You tapped your finger absentmindedly, mouthing along to the words that played through your earbuds.

“Now boarding flight #271, westbound for Los Angeles, California,” a voice over the loudspeakers declared. 

You stood up, stretched, and approached the gate. 

It was finally time for you to pick up the pieces.

_≻ ───── “Do not fall in love with people like me._  
_I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth._  
_I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. **And when I leave, you will finally understand why storms are named after people.”** ~Caitlyn Siehl ─────≺ _

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